the trouble with open doors

The trouble with open doors is that anybody and anything can walk through them. Unfortunately, it is a very small room. We got heads bumping, bodies grinding, and ghosts floating here and there. Too many things happening at once. I slowly lose track and then there's not much of me left. Just a smiling face, a body, pressing against you. But this is only shell. A figment of what I could be but a very real illusion for you. Maybe this is all you seek, all you need, but when the room clears and I have the peace to stare at the perfect walls again, I won't remember you the same way. And the ghosts will sing to me again, lulling me to sleep in this tiny, perfect world.