Look into my eyes for they tell a story.
A story of a trapped poet heart,
a wretched soul who will never know love but only the words,
a story of despair.
My story begins on the dark side of the moon,
a magical night, full of wonder and anticipation,
the night death came and took my soul, and
caused my grotesque form perpetual suffering.
Suffering.
Does anyone understand the meaning more than I?
My eyes were once a beautiful brown,
the color of an owl's wing before I saw paradise,
and to my surprise, the grand white gates were closed,
for I am forsaken.
Cursed. Can't you see?
My eyes no longer hold the flicker of life;
however, something cold,
a black hole.
Cursed. Can't you see?
On that cold and starless night, lightning struck,
soliciting the first spark that gave me life,
an imperial electrical current that pumps our lonely hearts.
Are you beginning to see?
The monster story began in death,
which comes to us in many forms,
and sadistically came to me in rebirth,
thus the hunt for my human nature began.
Cursed by resurrection.
Cursed by pain.
The first human encounter, my only attempt at companionship,
rejected by these words:
"Cold. So cold... why am I frightened?" a farm girl whispered to me.
The words replayed in my mind over and over again
like a broken record, forever branding my tortured soul.
I am cursed by my creator reflection.
I am the monster.
A/N: The inspiration for this poem came to me first with the title, " Prometheus Rising". Then I began to write the story of Frankenstein, inspired by the addictive TV show Penny Dreadful.
