In a maze you looked for the way back
He said he had a house
She married him
Shamble of glass rubble and plastic bottles
Even the pain in your feet hasn’t woken you up
There is a world without sun
A goldenrod background painted by you
Colors twist gently into the floating air
Blank exaggerated dense constitutes the trilogy of the house
The blank left hand side of the house windowless
Just thick plaster
Downcast eyes
The middle part, a crude surface
A gaping fissure makes an entrance, ten meters high
A gray staircase leading in
A gray tongue
Dense balconies grow on the right
Stainless security cages climbing unevenly on the balconies
No light in the windows, a few clothes hung out
Crowded lives
Within the silence there is the sound of running
Sound of closing the iron door
Sound of rubble crushed underfoot
Sound of heavy breathing
Concrete is decomposing
A kind of introverted matter is seeking release