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.