I. THE ALCHEMIST

The lab is still. The lamps are low.
Glass trembles as bellows blow.
Ash drifts through heated air
my breath, my sin, suspended there.

From my own arm, I take the seed,
the red that answers every need.
Flesh to form, and form to art
a world condensed to beat a heart.

Be formed!, O dust. Be bound! O spark.
Rise luminous from a hidden dark.
Let nerve and thought and sight align,
and wear my soul beneath your spine.

I give what gods refuse to give
a soul that thinks, a self, eternity
a soul entirely,
beyond the reach of soulbleeds plea.

Go forth, my hand, my echoed hue
I lose myself in making you.


II. THE HOMUNCULUS

I opened eyes that were not mine.
The air was smoke. The birth, a crime.
I felt his pulse behind my own
a borrowed life, a hollowed bone.

He called me pure. He called me new.
But all I felt was part of two
a tethered will, a hidden ache,
a soul that trembles not to break.

His blood is root, his word the frame
I bear his image, not his shame.
Yet in each order, something cries -
not all that serves was meant to rise.

I taste the world through borrowed sight.
I move to maim where he would write.
My hands recall their makers greed
to tear, to crush, to make them bleed.


III. TRANSFUSION

Maker and made, we are the same.
I bled, I breathed, we learned to see
the wound in him, the wound in me.

He built my flesh to house his end,
to live again through what I destroy.
No grave, no god, no soul to free
we are the sum, our will through me

He is in me,
and I in he.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Glacian, in the year 989 AF.