the life of a wallfly

before i forget i must again touch on the subject of the sticking fly which has now become a real object, my unconcious mind has begun manifest into the physical realm, or perhaps it is just coincidence.
 perhaps.
 It was in the shadow above where the streetlight struck through the window, splashed onto the wall and lost its battle against the dark.  It watches out across the overflowing bin and the bathtub shower stained with paint and colour and miscenlaneous other.

Water drips into the bowl and i watch the fly and i am sure the fly watches me, it makes no movement and perhaps even it is dead and is simply sticking there and decays slowly but think not.  It watches me and i watch it.  we watch each other watching each other and there is some stillness.  Some people are fucking in the other bathroom, they have been going for a while, endurance love.  It is the tour de france, now, winter and though this post has crawled and struggled it is now over and like me will go rest.

I shower and sleep.  Then wake and work, the streets will be colder than now.
tomorrow morning.