Arms wedged painfully across her chest,
The air is thin,
She puffs for every aching breath,
Struggling from head to shin.
Frighteningly entombed in a wooden cage,
The air is damp,
She claws and scratches until nails shed and bleed,
Intervened by cramp.
No room to punch, she screams herself hoarse,
The air is stifling,
She sobs fearing being buried alive,
Through her pockets rifling.
Not her choice of clothes, no phone or bag,
The air is mournful,
Does eternity mean lying here,
For a life lived so scornful?