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Spaghetti knots


cold again

the ridges meet

in the uncanny valley of your heart

emptying on a tuesday

where the wednesday was taking too long


you are already laying next to her

in a room filled with blobs of the unwritten

though it was said the painter left a mark

somewhere under the last tenant’s notion

of who was here

and who would last



the hand meets the end

is it the start of something worse

is it the start of nothing at all


you are told that this would happen

it always does to the best

but the best aren’t here right now


where did they go

burps out in between the licked

as a question asked when you are convinced

you are not worth convincing you

when you know the answer already

swells in an echo still not still

like a dead dog you found when you were eight

and hungry

for more than this


are you thinking of anything

are you okay


what is the matter

your stomach is rumbling


is it me

is it you

is it it


thursday comes after a few silent slopping years

when the love is less of a shower’s mist

more of a shower missed

and you forget the rest of what was supposed to be said

when it was supposed to be said

by whomever it was supposed to say it

even if you are sure it was worth it

because you are

aren’t you


no answer by anyone

for even you there

stop here


About kacperniburski

I am searching for something in between the letters.


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