6 Μαρτίου, Παγκόσμια Μέρα κατά του Εκφοβισμού
Just escaped a room.
A room full of bones and triggered minds.
Dark flashes flashing under the dirty ceiling.
A star crying over a nasty joke and a joke laughing over a falling star.
Kids feeling peer-pressured to stay awake while healing with drunk souls.
A spoon covered in honey and a cup of beer smelling like the past.
Some illnesses wandering around the empty room observing all those dead living bodies.
Rage and frustration travelling with such great velocity peering through the door leading to a snow-covered street.
Loud streetlamps spreading chaos throughout the foggy area.
Many cobbles patterning a simple pavement with a sense of guilt.
No one to guide Stockholm this furious night but the unreliable wind.
Some strangers pass by the fireplace settled in the street trying to warm up in vain.
Foreigners and customers seem to be one voice, one shade, one shadow.
Streetlamps have never created such a loud void before but now.
Drunk souls seem to be bleeding words on crumpled paper.
Leaves are starting to become brown and cannot be saved anymore.
A happy man starts to feel some pain in the chest but there is no reason.
The fire is gone, and strangers start to move on with frozen legs and hands.
Streetlamps are dark and mysterious, leaving everyone alone.
The wind is calm, but those kids are furious and thirsty and full of priceless dreams that will never be achieved.
It is a lovely nightmare this night for all those stars that bleed light to preserve pain.
This is what windy nights at Stockholm feel like.
What you’ve felt is unreal.
However, your Stockholm is there, faded in the back of your mind.
Choose the cause wisely.
Is it the wind or just the night?
Cause Stockholm’s dead and nothing’s mine.
Χριστίνα Αγγελή
