lonely birdhouse dreams

I'm here, writing from the 3rd story of an semi-elegent hotel. My head is spinning with thoughts of pictures and dirty sheets. I heard people speaking softly to one another. It's almost unreal how everything here is. It's in the design of tourists in mind. So here I am, realist in mind, hoping for something dim and irregular to come around. All I see is perfect, colorful lights flashing around my camera lens and into my eyes. I can never then unsee these things.