Full Rooms

Self preservation is a commitment; I am instinctual devotion, blinded by insecurity, deaf for rebuttal, constantly searching methods, willing to accept defeat, unwilling to accept denial, and ultimately defiant of any person or thing surfacing my skin. All I can recommend for concern is to watch; I am without regret however a beholder may consider this emotion in light of dark situations.

Hotels are momentary functionary previsions for temporary lives amongst unbalanced permanence; we categorize neither for our characteristics, we prefer to be left alone in these structures, we will come and go while guests stay for indefinite periods of mysterious vacancy. Those who care to understand do not participate in our negligence of negotiable nuisance; they do not partake in our merciless movement. These are voices and perception for us to excuse with politeness.

"Look at him Azrael! He did not ask for this..."

"He spoke..."

"What did he say?"

"How do you do."

"These words prompted you?"

"He came with his own discretion regardless of influence and persuasion."

"You know how convincing you can be..."

"I do not, such does not interest me."

"What interests you?"

"That which is interesting..."

"He did or does he?"

"He is unable at this moment to present that which interests my interests."

"Obvious what interested you..."

"Is this objection or observation? I am in need of clarity."

"We are all in need of clarity."

"You do not show detest; you do not condone my behavior as your own yet it is, do you know?"

"Yes I do..."

"You now contemplate these actions from witnessing mine?"

"Yes..."

"Why is that?"

"Your actions are mine as well."

"I cannot admit the same for you. Those women revolted me..."

"You never were attracted to such; if had been ours you would feel differently."

"You are correct as always however I am still revolted."

"Must you be humorous while these fill your room?"

"There are three rooms; this is not full yet..."

"Funny..."

"Fun and humor are not the same; one is thoughtless while the other is contemplative."

"I no longer desire juice of plump pistils belonging to the bees."

"I am no longer available for the throne to dismay a Queen."

"Nonsense...you will always determine these..."

"They are with choice; every man and woman share equilibrium of essence."

"Yes but their will is mist which forms crimson from your lids."

"I see your wife tended to your wound; she does not tend to your desire?"

"I'm afraid not..."

"Why are you afraid?"

"I do not want to be punched in the face."

"Why so many children then.....?!"

"Passion is fruit which ripens quickly; if not picked to eat when ready the flesh spoils..."

"Where is my passion?"

"Doing what you do with your fervor as her disposition."

"I desire her more than ever."

"You never knew what others thought of you when together."

"Are we apart?"

"For eyes and ears other than senses...yes..."

"I never cared much for organs."

"Damn, how is it you make me laugh despite this emotion...?"

"What is the emotion?"

"Disapproval..."

"For whom?"

"Your septor..."

"That is a thing I do not carry."

"No it is your object of temptation."

"Shall my temptation be a woman instead? I am not excited by any other."

"Nor will you ever be; this is well known without a thought."

"You say others think of such?"

"Burden not your self."

"Tis our burden at the moment; where is my mistress?"

"Your Beau searches for her mister."

"I am him."

"Yes..."

"You are still my companion."

"Always, you are mine as well but we are not alike in romance."

"We are alike in three rooms."

"I will leave you to the last vessel..."

"Will you contribute to the vacancy?"

"I cannot...they fill spaces and empty the atmosphere...your company is of that nature for their wandering."

"I am weak for their attention."

"I will return with Kevinya; she wishes to speak with you about what is happening to us."

"We are a much sought after species."

"Endangered close to extinction..."

"Very well I must tend to my guests, being the hostess I am I shan't leave them waiting else I am drained..."

"They are as well."

"Waiting or drained?"

"Yes in that order..."

"I miss you."

"I know..."

No other city is a gypsy haven; this portion of earth is the cultural sheath of mystical rainbows, colors of which prior to entrance of damnation, never seen. I will be a visitor, a nomad, but not a tourist. Black is the color of a woman from inside out; she is chosen to pass through alleys without confrontation or questioning other than "Who are you," which always makes her laugh. Nothing takes her aback as she walks, mentality splendors feet, stress is released; somebody is always watching nevertheless heels will keep tapping until caught in the shop with a price tag worthy of stock market crashing, damned as we please toes for show. A woman captured her vision for an infinite proposal, wordless for a mouth to open; we are not what we seem. Punk is neo gothic obliteration of anarchist intention brewed inside Wiccan spellbound authority, noted for expectancy.

I shall not grant the wish of another genie.

"Vampyr..."

I shall not answer for a century; I am not the definition of time to call upon. If I am needed I will disappear, if I am summoned I will appear, if I am named I rather be a friend other than a projection of infamous legend. Acknowledging sound of her physicality I nod for gentility not for polite mannerism; she can accept this as her own or at least I presume.

"You came for them."

French is a peculiar derivative of various European dialect as every language is a branch of the uttered tree; some birds refuse to sing while others nest fallen leaves.

"If your wisdom is a tongue we will be swallowed; you will need to be silent to be fed."

Remembrance beckons me into another state of seclusion for exclusive detail; I recall a rose left on the doorstep of my Beau's apartment.

"This must be a preventative measure."

"This measure does not count for us. I desire strawberries until the season bids us vines for renewal."

"You are allergic; the color is white."

"Not entirely white..."

"Red tones speckle the green budding..."

"I do not want it."

"I will eat it."

"Roses are poisonous..."

"We will find out."

My fingers caress her lips while petals malicious of intent are devoured by passion. The flower must of empowered her vitality with sensual mysticism as we are surprised with another child from our elusive encounters; somebody is watching. Regardless our bed is made not for sleeping.

"What shall his name be?"

"We will let Linda decide..."

"Amor..."

"From whence he exists..."

"Whence he came is not the same."

"I am not sure how he came."

"I suppose when we did..."

"Which...?"

"We need to make sure he arrived."

I watch with concern of the unspoken woman wearing grey; she exits while they kiss. Her head shifts for clouds of cocaine laced marijuana smoke; the fragrance is memory of another place. I look to my eventual spirit to appease this brood inquisition; inside a few written phrases is a set of curiosities. Roses do not appear from nowhere.

Words are deleted with lines as to edit complexity for thine eyes.

If ever I try to surround her with those I adore, she is misplaced; within her demeanor is discomfort which reaches out for attention. This I cannot give; I am accompanied by those who understand being together is our pleasure. What is her desire? I shall not surrender.

One specific instance is a gathering which she is not called to attend; there are a few such moments, unfortunately she finds herself in the position of an unwanted guest. Disguise does not cover her intention; she comes to watch the center. Personalities differ for environment; our muse is entertained by enjoyment of the self consisting of those who contribute darkness of damnation. This alters her detached appearance into emotional realization for purity of wicked tendencies. I am accustomed, needless to exaggerate, she is not.

Bravery of partnership is awareness of possible interference, nature of which may cause everyone involved an immense amount of trouble; for his numerical measurement this is far too much for our taste.

"I know why it is you come; I know why it is you go. I will ask you once never to return."

"You are his friend; you condone his actions?"

"He hurts not one, not even you..."

"He hurts himself."

"You will hurt him more than he can hurt his own self. Regardless he is not yours."

"Whom does he belong?"

"His Beau and everyone who understands..."

"What do I need to understand?"

"He is not yours...how much repetition counts your fingers? Nine...?"

One is missing...

"This is a great deal of pain..."

"You touched his garment..."

"He is not wearing any!"

"His skin, for this I keep the digit; you may point only in your direction."

She is anger, I am temper, our companion is sadistic satisfaction.

"The look upon your face is lust."

"Not for you."

"For whom?"

"The women you gossip about our lion."

"I need my index."

"You need more than a glossary to understand his loyalty; she is wearing the same garment as he."

"I can bring you those women."

"What do you want for them?"

"My finger..."

"You may have this instead..."

Unwrapping bones of a raven's wing he was forced to suffocate with cloth tis hidden for picking a dead man's flesh, the fit is a match for her olive shade to grow into a compilation thus her hand accepts such twine as infuriated grip.

"Linda what are you doing here?"

Naivete is a lover under the sheets as well.

"He invited me..."

Two of Mars' crimson is innocence; hurricanes form in a field of tender sugar cane stalks for her arms to drape the one he indulges sweetness for eternity.

"I did no such thing."

"I seriously doubt he would; he does not care for excess. Neither do I..."

His Beau is a silent ponder for an investigator who knows all; she decides how to address this case with an open book for words.

"You may join us or leave."

A simple ultimatum yet vastly interpretative...

"I left to see where you went..."

Turning back in attempt to placate with physical gestures, the bluish black reanimate is sore for a crowd of unification standing firm behind three garments, two alike.

"She was watching most of the event; she left when you posed for ice."

"Perhaps we are already frozen..."

All is silent for an answer; she walks away as I follow.

"I do not know how to express our feelings to her..."

His patience is my impatience.

Divinity is a Beau's arm he wraps around as they return to their pleasure.

Puffing a metal chamber pipe compiled of various pieces, a wind of regret vaporizes; the face she wears I cannot familiarize. The cocktail she stuffed for a mental getaway blackened her eyes; for several moments she lays in between dust and broken concrete. Ants discard their castle for pores, she giggles their march as they progressively climb her arms; this startled me, the fangs of soldiers penetrate mankind.

"They don't know how I feel about her..."

I suppose the ants might; they did listen while retracting their teeth for enemies. She must be an allied force for mounded armies.

"One day they will know."

One night we will be gone. I came to understand she would do anything to prove her point.

"I do wish she would of joined us."

"She will when ready."

"We make it very clear that we are her friends."

"She does not confide in us."

"Then who will be her confident?"

Man in a white coat glimpses into a cage...

"You should of done what she asked."

"She is not in any position to ask of anyone that which is not their nature."

"You will be her nature."

"It is not natural; I shall not."

I decided his attire might be a tad grunge to chew; while scalpels rest on a table prepared for glue I tasted science to come back for you.