A small space, confined and narrow.
A small space, suffocating and useful.
A small space, stuffy and stinky.
A small space, strange and renewed.
A place where fears grow.
A place where anxieties build.
A place where breathing becomes difficult.
A place that takes me places.
A means of attaining my means.
A means of ruining them to.
A means of building ideas.
A means of executing them.
What I thought was about elevators,
I found out it sounded like my brain.