Where Am I?

[lanaia74]

What is this small thing I am waking up in?
Everything smells musty, and the feel of the air is damp
It seems I'm in a predicament that I will never win
This seems like some sort of a small box,but there seems to be a light resembling a small light.

This place is so small that I can hardly move
Chlostrophia helps matters none
To get out of here what on earth do I have to prove?
I want to get out of here and again on my face feel the sun.

There is some sort of power source because I can still breath the air
So it seems my captor wants to keep me alive
I should have never trusted that good-looking guy, the one that was blond and so fair
He paid attention to me, and I went with him for a drive.

You violated my rights no matter what you might say
He had been stalking me for weeks and knows my family has money
I thought you were so nice, but your sick game I don't want to play
Trusting you was my down fall, I had no feelings at the time I should flee.

If I live through this I will make sure you get caught
You have no right to hold me against my will
I will make sue by the authorities you are sought
I will try my best to make sure my life you do not steal.

 

[Stewart]

It's a bit too confusing as one line it refers to 'he' and then the same person is referred to as 'you'. Perhaps not confusing, but inconsistent. I don't like the lack of rhythm - it makes the feeling of what you are trying to achieve seem lazy where a tight rhythm would serve better to illustrate the panic of waking up somewhere strange.

And 'Chlostrophia' is spelt claustrophobia.

All in all, I didn't see the point in it. It seeks to thrill, but fails because the narrative is languid. The use of 'seems' in the final line of the first stanza does not work and that line itself is overlong, given the context of the rest.

What it's lacking is a sense of urgency and those figures of speech that make poetry worth reading: simile, metaphor, alliteration, et al.

 

[George Oliver]

Claustrophobia/kidnap...gulp...

Trapped on a whim and held by fear
There's something I don't want to hear:
The voice I heard not long ago
Beckoning me forward in the snow.

"It's only a flat, I'll need your help
You mustn't shout, you needn't yelp,
Just get inside and we'll be done,
Don't make a sound, I've got a gun."

The engine groans from up ahead,
Behind the wheel he wants me dead,
Or maybe, maybe he wants more,
Before my body reaches shore.

I'm floating, floating, fading fast,
This breath of mine, it cannot last,
I sink three times, then once again,
Drowning in the Mediterranean.

I did it all, just like he said,
I ground his bones to make his bread,
He groaned just like the engine - loud!
Of what I've done I am not proud.

To save one's life, how far to go?
I stopped to help him in the snow
I've learned my lesson, learnt it well,
Ten thousand feet below the swell.