Roots of daydreams

(or is it madness?)

My empty animal uterus bleeds,
As my empty soul also does.

I am finishing a journey of repairing the errors of my ignorant and painful youth;

such a good and foolish heart I used to bear.

And, for this, my flesh has been paying the price for many years.

I hope my penance comes to an end after I inflict on her — my flesh — these final wounds of reckoning in a lost, but shining desire of redemption of this soul that seeks immortality in ancient books, but asks, every cursed day, for any powerful divinity who can give her — my soul — an ear, even for a little time it takes to share a single glance or a wheezing breath, to erase every single trace of us from this very dimension, this very world.

I wish I could have a son, you know?
I would like to call him “Sebastian”.
I always liked this name.
My husband would hate it. He hates names such as these.

I beg for the gate;
I beg for the true;
I beg for a chemistry;
I beg for an alchemy;
I beg for a pray.

By Isaac Alden.