Saturday, February 13, 2010


Painting myself to death

heavy brushstrokes hush your lapse for living;

romancing a poetic life-end:

an escapist dream of cabin-dwelling,

hoarded with hallucinogens to craft the life your brain coddles


wood-stacked walls wage wars with reality

soundly beautiful; lonely

ramped and exciting,

a solitary soul seaming hand-crafted stories and quilts

threading life behind heavy lids

fabricating fantastical feats

from visions of closed-world sleeps;

an existence all its own.

Okay, so I really need feedback on this one. too wordy? I feel like I repeat "life" so many times. I'm open to ideas!


Anonymous said...

i like this!
horted isn't a word though

Joey said...

but like that show - horters!! haha no? ok..