Someone...

I call this someone...

It's cold and dark in this wooden box, I put myself there but regret every waking hour I spent there, slowly, the rot of indecision creeps and the stench of loneliness sets, six feet under is no suitable metaphor for my state of mind, Glimmers of hope : nil... Yet you appear, I hear it but my solitude leads me to conclude it's madness, turns out I'm not crazy, Someones out there, Someone living! Digging towards me, handfuls of dirt at a go, You get to me..