Get off of me, I hate this feeling,
my senses are reeling; walls closing in.
Tight fitting spaces are places I do not flourish in.
I need my room. This impending doom sensation,
is causing debilitation to my psyche.
It might be this inate fear of being here, a bit too near
for my taste. It’s a waste of good angst to be against
this barrier. Getting scarier and scarier the more
people close in. It’s a crying sin akin to torture.
Bullets are being sweated. I’m headed for a panic attack,
a manic attack of nerves that swerves me into this mix.
No easy fix to my phobia. People pushed against me
and this room gets smaller still. It’s a horrid scene,
packed in like sardines. I could scream; it seems
everything and everyone is against me.
I should have taken the stairs.