The walls are moving.

They shift in and out in tight, undiscernible patterns:

Quickly, slowly,

Scraping your back when you try to turn.

They get too small;

They become too narrow some ways.

Punch the wall in frustration; they should easily knock down.

Determinedly throw everything you have against the wall.

Only the grunts of your effort make a sound, but

The walls continue to move.

One out and another in.

Next thing you know there’s plenty of room ahead.

Breathe for a moment and revel in a couple of steps

Then you hit it,

The wall has moved again.

Step back and heave sweat dripping down yet the wall has won

Hit the floor and begin whimper

But the walls continue to move

Being shuffled back and forth, a child on a seesaw

Through your watery eyes you can find no escape

They move randomly

Without distinction or pattern

Nothing will stop it, no matter what

The walls continue to move.

 

Sudden stillness arises

And with it hope, but is this better than walls?

Does the empty air instill relief

Or anxiety fill the endless void?

So while you were being crushed by the known,

Nothing is now your enemy.

With all the space you curl up and wait.

What are you waiting for?