At times I feel that I can't catch my breath. The weight of being buried alive is slowly squeezing the life out of me with each breath I take. If I could just dig or scratch my way out, I could breathe again. I would risk digging my fingers to a bloody pulp and bone if I could get out of this darkness and see light again.
It has been so dark in this box. I can't recognize the sounds I hear; every noise is muffled. This is not being alive; this is merely an existence. I can barely move. If only I could move my limbs. They ache under the weight of being buried. I doubt my sanity.