I never asked for life – you forced it upon me,
Before then I was nothing, neither trapped nor free
But now I can feel, my flesh-bound form
Unable to cope with the touch of the air, instead forced to abide
This torture you call life, where every shade of green
Reminds me of the mould you revel in,
Hidden in your sewers,
That you nourish and protect,
Along with your rats,
As alive and as fine as you,
More numerous than you, and still more free,
Unable to think of something else, unable to dream.
Occasionally it is interesting to ask ‘what would something that had never had sentience before – a robot, perhaps, or Frankenstein’s Monster – make of being alive?’ This poem is one possible response to that question.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic