Frankenstein's Lament

I have no spirit. I have no soul. I am nothing more than a terrible troll. I’ll never see Heaven, And this is my Hell, To be shunned by all men and the fair mademoiselle. I was made by a madman, Assembled from parts Of decaying cadavers, and life from a spark. My twisted existence Of needles and thread, Malodorous materials from realms of the dead. I entered this world One dark stormy night, My creator’s repugnance foretelling my plight. I opened my eyelids As lightning bolts zapped, With howling of winds and thunderous claps. I was thrust into light. I knew darkness and cold. I was thirsty and hungry, a sight to behold. A blind man took pity. I did not offend. He was my one unconditional friend. And then he was gone, But I needed someone, A partner to witness what I had become. I wanted affection, But all that I fetched Was fear and revulsion for this awful wretch. All I desired Was someone to share Ups and downs of a life filled with sorrow and care. Alas! My creator Reneged on our deal. In spite of my honest and urgent appeal, He butchered my bride. I butchered his, too. But first I killed Henry. That day he will rue. The way I’d been treated Only heightened my rage. Yet my maker perished before the last page. Soon I discovered That I could not die. I’ve lasted for decades. Death I defy. And my punishment still, As a tragic outcast, Is to walk among gravestones of people who’ve passed.