Plainsong fusion. Classical guitar. Female crescendo a vocal peak. The rhythmic fanfare against subdued jitters in the room above.
The lust to thrive lay slain, a body slouched horizontal. Fallow in heat, fastened in flesh to bobbled and hardened layers over a recycled mattress finely solid.
A thrum sent pale from a seasoned vent. A metal flower, three-petal and turning. It's wired stem overreached. The near silent application vague in its persistence as hot air broods.
Shorts pulled and loosened. Cotton resting warm and cumbersome against muscled thighs otherwise bare. Shirtless under sweat; daubs, bubbles, a devastated torso held unavailing to need. Chest intensified, but no air free.
Starring, both pupils swell; water-wells of lightlessness ran deep through body ground and mind soil. Blackened sight pockets pitted in drought. Unforgiving to the enemy inside.
A glance arrested, the room shoeboxed. One mansize entrance of expanded lumber, bound and locked. The black helve ornate and pushed upward, forced for insurance.
The wallpaper seeps; once full of newness and shine, but since conquered. A corner folds triangular, hanging down from up. Below a locker sits polished, ruined in gloss by only scattered coin and debauched tissue.
On opposite, the floor hides. Clothing worn and discarded, unfolded and frayed beside a travel bag untouched. Readied, zipped and ribboned with yesterdays destination. Subtle confirmation of a sojourn all-out impermanent.
Just beyond, bottled lotion sits tepid. 500ml run down. Its lid on axis, excessed with creamed residue, liquid cling to the aftermath of today.
Lonesome in rest nearing the corner, black tape unused. Armed extension thoughtless towards the thick loom. One hand hits lotion, the bottle fallen and flat. The notepad now further found to damage with white unction splotched gradually over lined pages.
The pressure naked, careened warm and humid. The circled band held and twisted. The seal broke. Tape pulled stern. Body movement swift in direction to the door.
Tape revved once more, sticky side down. The first fillet bitten, pulled and broken. Thumbed fresh between wood and wall and hand-palmed downward.
A process repeated. Turned. Stretched. Ripped.
The ripple of strips a sharp eruption not shallow to the risen soundtrack still echoed. The outline firm. The keyhole final. Stuffed and covered. The window secondary in airtight succumbing. A room blackened. A room thinning.
Positioned in bed once more. The required ribbon. Duct tape raced heavy under thumb against unshaven neck contours. One wrap soundly, a second looped secure.
One fist levered in sternness, trembling yet vivid. The quickness. The rip. Twisting tape constant. Three rounds. Four. The tightness, a surge. Several pulls more. A squirming throat, an hourglass unturned.
Calmness and heartbeats. Sweat and still. White spots. Black spots. Together the rabbithole to perceived liberation.
One knock on the door.