comatose and fading

a paper-thin moon extends her arms, sending shimmering beams to bounce off of everything in their path, shadows forming in their wake. fireflies against ocean, stars nod down, weakly disapproving. wind blows softly, sends gusts past sheer curtains, and stops, acting as if it has a choice. dew falls with a sickening thud on the windowsill; miniature puddles for miniature life to cycle through, oblivious to the fact that there's anything beyond their small, small world. the television screen flickers and sputters with static that no one will see, not for hours or days. until someone notices, it may even be weeks. instruments of misguided, self-inflicted forgetfulness, strewn on carpet stained with high, drunken, lascivious nights, on coffee tables grungy and cracking. malignancy still climbing through nearly-dead veins, it spins 'round and 'round, though not so fast as it once had. glassy eyes, wide open, focus on something beyond the walls whose also stained paint is beginning to peel, something more and something better. and they continue to stare unblinkingly as the silence that descended hours before continues, unbroken.