Crushed

Gray walls of cold metal,
Room darker than black's shadow,
Space enough for one to stand,
The walls smooth, yet rough,
In the blackness,
I smell the coldest of liquids,
Hear death's taste,
Feel the sharpest fear drip between my fingertips,
Taste the sound of screams.

Suddenly,
No notice given,
The walls give way,
Quickly,
Like a Guillotine,
The ceiling crashes down,
My eyes scream,
My tastes burn,
My ears closed from the darkness,
I smell the wall closing,
I feel the fragrance of my last breath.

Jolting upright,
Screaming,
In this room of mine,
Away from everyone else,
I claw at my face
Nails sharp,
Crying to myself:
"What's wrong with me?"

Soon I realise,
It's not my fault,
Not entirely,
It's my mind,
It's been crushed...