This room is so crowded.

Everywhere leads to barbwire.

I’m lost.

My way out is a wall of fire.

I say I’m pleased to be here,

but I’m a liar.

I try to sneak away,

but my plans backfire.

I need to be polite

so it’d be rude to retire,

but I’m feeling claustrophobic.

My anxiety blooms to ire.

I try to get alone, but they’re in my way.

Now everyone knows I’m an angry crier.