Room 14Room 14Room 14
He finds the room quite by accident, being bored and naturally wandering, until he happens across a door which does not fit the décor. The quick brass handle seems to him to hum quietly a song which he recalls from his childhood; amongst other lavish engravings daubed in ivory jackets he finds inscribed “room 14”, and counting again notes the sum of his rooms indeed to be one fewer.
Turning the knob incurs a discharge of multicoloured plumage (!) from a seven-sided hatch in the glass over-arcs ripple: it cascades thickly like hone
SkinSkinSkin
I have lived in this skin.
Thin blue stitching holds it close to my bones, weaves and pulses a web around its bloated red queen, pacing impatiently beneath the rib-winged butterfly skylight of my chest.
I have let the sun's colour stain it, the shallows of my belly and the plump arches of my cheeks, watched it whiten and wilt away in bronze-flecked petals.
I have split it
and seen it weep around the cliffs of my knuckles, pool deeply and make criss-cross channels that run hotly to my wrist; tasted the flat grit of rust a
Ron
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ArtMajeur
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Passion... it lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting, and though unbidden, it will stir, open it's jaws, and howl. It speaks to us, guides us... passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have?... Passion is the source of our finest moments.
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