An Elevator

The doors slide shut with a hard, metallic clank,

as faces blur past like smoke in the air.

Inside this box, silence wraps its thick flank,

and my thoughts wrestle with all that I bear.

A stranger stands close, absorbed by their screen,

eyes dancing on glass while the numbers creep high.

I breathe in the tension, this awkward routine,

the weight of small talk, just a whispering sigh.

The flickering light above drowns in the hum,

its flickers a reminder of how we ascend.

Each floor we rise to feels empty, then numb—

in this confined space, we pretend we’re just friends.