I curse the day

I curse the day I tasted bridal bread and salt.
I curse the day I met the future posy thrower.
I curse the day I let the dissolution slip through my fingers.
I curse the day I woke up in a stretcher.
I curse the day I was born,

most of all.


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com

A confession

After swallowing, with a light breakfast, a daily dose of pity
pills and ridicule syrup, you spend the whole morning trying to find comfort
in vague declarations fastened with unfamiliar words and sturdy punctuation
that presented a sordid little drama as a fare of martyrdom,
only to realise that once you confessed to hearing, in response, ‘I beg your pardon?’
and still kept your calm, as if your gravely misspelt urges had never been revealed,
there was nothing left but to ask: Do I avoid people because I’m afraid of falling for one
and that that would be one-sided and rather silly, all things considered,
or because irrelephantiasis might prove to be contagious?


More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com