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!