Art, Poetry
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comfort sensory room

Lounging against a sac of beans

As I ponder where I lay

Between 2 chairs of emerald

And bronze arms on display

 

Air brushed clouds are above me

while sepia wood tones are below

And glass walls are all surrounding

Pierced by yellow globes.

 

a fan swirls invisibly

humming a melody as it goes

While a cool breeze blows by gently

softening my many woes…

 

And as I write such a cliche of familiarity

I watch a mural set the tone

While sanity dissolves all around me,

I a fake forest I call home.

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This entry was posted in: Art, Poetry

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My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.

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