The salary comes in and disappears like a thief.

Like a ghost, it passes across the screen.

Before I even see him, he's gone:

Electricity, gas, internet, supermarket, loan.

The Public Power Corporation screams with a dark voice:

"You're not paying? I'll cut you off."

Gas, winter with teeth,

It burns us before we even open it.

There is no moisture dripping from the walls –

numbers are dripping.

Every envelope I open is a bullet.

Every month, and a mouth that never gets full.

And us?

We work. All day, every day.

We work to pay our bills. Our salary goes up in smoke.

Smoke that doesn't smell like breath, but suffocates.

There's no money left for food, going out, or children.

Just to keep up the illusion that we're alive.

But we don't live. We survive. With tired eyes,

with bodies that sleep cannot reach.

Life is no longer measured in moments,

but in clocks that run

and calculate the next charge.

How should we live, you ask?

I don't know.

I just know that if we don't scream soon,

we will remain silent forever

in invoices.