Hello. I am a rattling skeleton. I am all bones, hanging down from the door.

I am stuck here for eternity. I don’t get to move around that much. At least, I can see the sky through the window. Maybe I was a poet, when I had flesh and blood.

The room is small, with few stuff here and there. A laptop in the corner table, guitar stand with no guitar, a hideously green ottoman, a small chest drawer with broken handles, that’s about it. Oh ya, the Buddha candle holder by the bed. I kind of get the skeleton view from the top of the door. My owner tends to forget that I am attached to it. When he comes home drunk, often times with a female companion, he bangs open the door. Yes, I am a skeleton, I don’t have any feelings. blah blah blah. But who likes to get banged in the face? I don’t. Sometime it rearranges my bone structures, not pleasant.