Hotelroom

Alone in my hotel room, all others asleep. The light in front of me burning my eyes, but much more that, my soul. The smoke flowed into the clouds, sucked away by the stars. He was next to me, croddling with me, struck with apodyposis as he "stared" in my eyes. Plastic frissons, I told him I was callow, yet we pressed. I knew the hidden ones and zeros behind his face, this moment, the glaver of this temptation, yet I continued. The quiet intimacy of the mistake played before me, my phantom sense oversimulating. I felt the movements, the drumming. The fabricated physical expressions of ecstacy. I lay alone the next morning, the dream of his breath plastered on my face. It wasn't real. I guess my spiral of obsession transformed my values to where the exit was out of sight at the temptation. ľm sorry, God. I told you I'd die to this.