Cleaning the mirrors

“Look at me, Doctor.

I could not give life to a flower.

I cleaned the mirrors today.

But I still feel I need to be punished,
that there is blood in my teeth,
blood in my soul.

My reason, my memory, they can not see any facts for which I want to be scalped.

Is this really only a disease of the brain?

This ancient brain,
that built bridges, ships, trains, planes.
Why would this wonderful creature want to torture an ant like me?

What? The soul?
Why would she want me to torture myself?

Is it the animal?

But wouldn’t she be the animal too?”

By Isaac Alden.