The walls are closing fast, it seems
They even creep up in my dreams
The leaning towering piles of stuff
I’ve really taken quite enough

They leave me little time to think
They’re even piled up by the sink
They trip me on my way downstairs
And when I pass, I give them glares

For cardboard boxes I now hate
I’d love to stop and clean this slate
To find that inner peace again
Can someone help me find my Zen?


About Marie

An eccentric & quirky artist and writer who fills her time between fantasy roleplaying sessions with painting, writing and playing her guitar (rather badly). Usually to be found with paint-stained fingers surrounded by books and tubes of acrylic paint.
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