A cube exists around me.
A cube of darkness closing in,
A cube of walls unknown;
Walls that are endless and confining.
A cube isolated and alone.

A cube of turbulent motionlessness,
Intertwining in my veins,
A cube of perpetual poisoning,
A cube of living death.

Light does not enter it,
Nor does it escape.
Rather, it is ****** in,
And implodes at sanity's end.

Imagine a new world
With brilliant colors everywhere
The light, blinding
You cover your eyes
It is too much, you want to disappear

Imagine you've been caught
You are trapped under a net
Rusty stakes dominate each corner
There is no where to go

Imagine you are stuck
Between invisible walls
You become frantic
You pound on the walls

Imagine
People go through this every day
This fear
Claustrophobia

I don’t do well in small places
Claustrophobia of the mind
Cause my mind is vast as space is
Yet space is hard to find

Do they know, what it’s like?
Visuals emerge, inside my head…

People everywhere, pushing,
No one watching, no one caring.
My throat…closing.
Suffocation. Anxiety.

The noise - there’s too much.

Screaming, laughing, yelling,
It fills every space in my mind.
I have no escape.
Claustrophobia. Anxiety.

They’re everywhere I turn…

Those noticing ask, are you okay?
Everyone looks at me. Stop staring!!
I can’t breathe...something’s rising inside.
Anger. Embarrassment. Anxiety.

There’s no where to go, no place to run.

Questions, Questions, Questions…
Why? Why not? You have to…
The pressure, the force –  it's building within.
Overwhelmed. Ashamed. Anxiety.

Do you really know, what it’s like?

Be thankful you don’t walk,
Even a mile in these shoes.
Because then you might understand,
What it’s like, to have to choose...

Alone in my empty home,
Because I just couldn’t embrace,
A tradition in which family partakes...
No Stampede Breakfast, just isolation.
Sadness. Depression. Anxiety.

Do they really know…..what it’s like?

Claustrophobia
The fear of small spaces,
confined spaces.

Back against the wall,
the walls are closing in.
There is no escape,
from the rake on the skin.

Balled in a blanket,
desiring to be confined.
Pulling in closer,
and quieting the mind.

Sounds of screams,
blare in the ear.
Music gets louder,
trying to make everything disappear.

I do not like the feeling of
examination,
of eyes burning on my back
as if you are a small match
and I am the bushfire
you wish to light...
I do not like the feeling of
obssessive observation,
I do not like privacy violation,
I do not like the feeling of claustrophobia,
I do not like claustrophobia because
it doesn't cease to exist by simply
removing ten people from one room.
I do not like claustrophobia because
sometimes your own mind is enough
to provoke a certain type
of wanderlust,
the kind where you run away
and leave everyone to rot and rust.
I do not like claustrophobia
because when I am alone,
it can never be enough alone,
it feels like the walls of my room
are breathing on my neck;
they're laughing at me,
declaring this poet insane,
it is the most crowded type of alone
until somebody, something
sedates my brain
and you call me "suggestive anxiety"
it's all in your head,
you're a game of chance
and I'm taking a guess;
you know my face but
you know nothing about my name.