Slowly but ever so slightly the walls of the small, damp room are drawn closer.
Knowing what's to come, unable to stop it.
Scrambling around, scratching at everything like a rat, you try to run away
Yet the walls keep inching closer,
Steadily approaching, then right as you're to be pressed smooth like silk, they're gone.
Trying to make it better only worsens it
Attempting to hide is impossible
Forcing it away is something only dreamt
There's something strangely peaceful about an inevitable end, for you need not worry.
Only try to comfort your mind and wait
Wait for eternal sleep.
