She is Frankenstein,
For she has made me a monster.
I was not birthed from her this cold,
She has forced me from warmth.
And yet, I still exist.
She is dismissive of me so I have learned to dismiss nature.
I am numb.
I cant imagine she'd have hoped for this.
Nor could I that she'd care.
Strange that this is that I strive
The ability to care.
I cannot often feel this from another, and in doing so I lack appreciation.
I am drawn to the smallest fraction of affection
Chasing this from anyone I meet.
I have been made anew, so that I may be rebroken for eternity.
I lack remorse.
Therefore, is the monster truly what Frankenstein has created?
© Yoda