Seven Breaths

I wake where shadows go to die,
No glimmer stains the waiting black;
My breath comes warm against my face,
I reach for night — it presses back.
And something holds me in this place.

I turn — but there’s nowhere to go,
My shoulder strikes against the dark;
The air feels smaller than before,
My pulse begins to beat too hard.
The walls close in with every breath.

Soft silk lies cool beneath my hand,
A padded wall against my side;
Too close, too still, too neatly made,
No room to turn, no space to hide.
The dark has folded me inside.

The air is thin — how long have I
Been lying here beneath this dark?
What happened last? I search my mind,
But memory will not strike a spark.
My breath comes shorter than before.

I brace my arms and bend my knees,
Then thrust myself towards the air;
My forehead strikes the dark above —
A ceiling sits where none should be.
And sudden pain reveals my fate.

I shout for help — the sound falls dead,
Swallowed before it travels far;
I scream again, then understand
No voice will reach beyond this dark.
And I have wasted half my air.

My heartbeat flickers, faint and slow,
One final breath claws through my chest;
The silk beneath me feels so cold.
What laid me here now matters not.
I’ll never leave this gilded tomb.