Blood Wedding Journal #3

Journal 3: Mother's
thoughts

Wretched
knife! Is my urn not full enough? The earth in my jar has yet to dry, and now,
my blood is once again poured out into it. The moon broke through the clouds and
revealed my sons mark to the Felix. Wicked bride, acknowledge the wax in your
orange blossoms. Silver doves fly and mock your wax bouqet. To sacrifice you to
my knife or to condemn you to the same kind of walls that have kept me all these
years, I do not know.