Within This Shell

I am trapped by this carapice squeezing.

Impinging my neck, pinching nerves, dimming sight.

My mind’s expansion hits barriers of pressure, reeling back from the pain for daring to challenge.

I am limited, confined to complex minutae of survival, which while they promote another day, distract in a way from larger, desired goals.

Ever it seems I am slowly spinning in a drain’s cesspool, yet if I stopped reassembling constructs as degrade, would flush me down into pipes – forgotten.