broken armchairs

Sitting in a corner of street.
With my one leg broken,
I hover between the dust of miserable souls
that overtook me..
also charged with waste smells
from the inferior recollections that did not leave me in peace.
what you all want from me?
i screamed in a moment,
But the voices reverberated in my depths of the garbage truck.
Nobody listened, how could they?
What I was? What I am?
A broken armchair, who gives her importance…