Inside of the Inside

the apartment and its furniture there are quiet ones by themselves. everything takes its place and my reflection in the window glass it just looks like a bug to look at. here only the wind moves as it wants, the rains have washed it all away, and the dust that resists helped time to stagnate. before the doldrums of these hours I carefully swept away what I was, now I look at myself thrown in the rubble and I don't even know what name should i give to it