Lachesism

I always thought

That tragedies give a person depth.

And in that thought I didn't notice

When I fell into the deep, black pit

That I created for myself.

Now I am trapped in a wooden box

Digging into the black soil of my depth.

I can hear the heavy faltering breathing

Of the person positioning the final nail

To hammer into the coffin

Which lies in the grave that I dug for myself.

But my screams, his breathing, and the sound of the hammer

All drown out under the pounding of the heart

Which quickens at the fear of losing its depth.

My fearful heart floods its black sludge through my veins

And I, in my coffin and my depth

Choke on the very sludge that was meant to save me.