The Skeleton With a Crown

The Curtains Can Only Sigh

Fresh air comes through the curtains as a whispering wind.
The moon shines through as a desolate glow.
It wanes.
The window is so clean that it's almost invisible.
The only tell is that the seal is halfway open.
The curtains brush forward again like a sigh of warm night air.

The sky is prettier than most nights.
It stands out to be noticed.
It mustve gained some new stars that are waiting to be seen.

Everything is
Quiet
Everyone is
Content

Across the room sits an unlit fireplace, wanting and willing to do its job but satisfied with the fact that it's not yet time.

A crowd is displayed laughing on the outdated television in the corner.
Theres a rug, well kept.
No sign of a place to sit and rest.

The crowd, the wind, the moon and stars, the curtain.
Though loud in action, all stand quiet.
As if the world was set on mute.

Just a scene with nothing out of place beside the nonexistant couch and the broken fence post in the backyard that swings back and forth as the wind quickens.
A sound that begins as a quiet squeaking but quickly grows louder and faster with nothing to stop it but some rusted nails and hammers in the old shed that no longer opens.
The curtains stop swaying as a sign that the wind has finished its tantrum.
The grass grows patient when it knows the fence will quiet down soon.

On the rug lays a man unconscious.
The state of him is unknown.
The rug, the fireplace, the curtains.
They cannot check.
They cannot say "Get help," or "Dont worry."
The crowd can only call him ungrateful for not appreciating the stars and the warm night air.

The curtains can only sigh.