Trapped

It's that itchy, claustrophobic feeling.  The one when you've realize that you are trying desperately to claw yourself out of the room but aren't getting anywhere.

The room is dark, damp, and smells like decay.  When you rub your hands along the walls the splinters stab your fingertips.  Eventually you don't even notice the roaches that run across your feet or the spiders that fall in your hair.  There are no windows, the only light comes from the door.

The door stands there tall and looming.  A glass door.  It's smooth to the touch and feels cool on the tip of your nose when you lean into it.  I can see my life on the other side--I see myself smiling, laughing, and truly happy.  I can see goals, aspirations, friends, and family.  The other side of the door is bright and colorful--my knuckles are stained red from knocking.  I need the key and I know that it has to be somewhere in this room hidden away.

I may spend hours searching each day but in the end I end up staring through the door--watching and dreaming--until I've exhausted myself and I collapse on the floor.  And just lay there and wait, possibly for something that will never come.

Absentmindedly flicking the spider off my forehead I shut my eyes with the thought that tomorrow I'll finally pull up the plank that my key is hiding under.