Hell is...

Loud, a painful din

hovering on the verge of deafness

no escape, no sanctuary

crammed in your little boxes

fetid air that doesn't circulate

thick with the rank odors

of fear and the unwashed

but sits in sullen oppression

still tasting of its last user

but offering no relief

the moment when

your stomach drops through

the floor, and keeps going

chest tightening, eternal windlass

lacking release

twilight, just dark enough

to be almost alone

but still able to hear whispers

rustlings always just beyond

the tiny circle of light

the feeling of knowing

you could reach out and take

a hand, a heart for comfort

never have to let go

your choice whether to relinquish

unless another is reaching

at that moment

towards you with iron grip

wanting order, control

knowing there'll be none

unless by force

a force you feel swelling

under your skin

but are too scared

to use

being scared of caring

of being inescapably tied

to these flimsy moorings

but being more afraid

of not caring at all

of what would happen next

being stuck

with the thoughts, the people

the problems, exquisitely aware

of the trap and yet

unable to break free

seeing a spirit being broken

& not having the words

to help

seeing the good and kind

get short shrift

knowing full well

what's happening

a powerless observer

watching the days blur

as life accelerates

brake lines cut

unwilling to jump

or maybe incapable

long days and hard hours

laboring against

all the little worries whose weight

slowly wears down, erodes

like water on granite

lines skindeep hiding

a bleeding heart

youth gone too soon

life, until

the sun comes out

or you close your eyes

and lean