My Frankenstein
A Poem
Written by Staff Writer Gemma Park
On one fateful, dreary morning
I heard the shrieks of their gullible rapture
Bubbling up and out of the black cracks
And felt the pain of a thousand light bulbs who
Scream a white screen that, without to our knowledge, conceals
A horror, a burning stench of death, those yellow eyes—
Where are your eyes?
Not the pair that cried in another desperate life, I mean yours
The pair of shiny lenses that can only read a number of codes,
Blinking lights, On and Off, Zero and One
And what lies between those yellow eyes?
Nothing but a conglomerate pile of ten other brilliant minds
Everyone, witness and glorify what we have made! See:
A glowing corpse with a mouth full of cotton and wires,
Arteries brimming with countless, struggling cells and another poet’s vowels,
Not veins, but a million red ink ribbons that ran through someone else’s broken typewriter
A rotten heart that does no good but tell a creature that it must live
Because all it needs is a command, not a beating soul
That you can only hear in ancient music
I fear that I see you in myself
And in every shadow of an artist that crawls out of the earth
To bear its porcelain fangs and bloody tongues upon
The very last resort of our souls’ livelihood
What have we done to humanity?