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.