Day 18: Dead dead dead

Sinking Feeling

Woodchips under finger nails
forming splinters around cuticles.
Blood leaks from wounds desperately made
staining red on the fine crafted box.

Echoes of screaming rings in my ears
shouting back at me for help.
Punching the wood, cracking my knuckles,
dislocating fingers, and cutting my skin;
turning my hand into hamburger trying to escape.
Reduced to a bloody stump a stream of dirt spills in,
pouring the earthly tomb inside like water filling a pool
soon to drown in grainy dirty worm filled dirt.