“The bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my wounds until death shall close them forever.”
Like Adam, I requested just one mate.
Frankenstein found that one request excessive.
His attitude was heartless and aggressive
At last. He started, labored to dilate,
Then cut the project off, inspired by hate.
Only of one small dream was I possessive.
My vengeance, I then swore, would be impressive.
Oh, he had opted for a dismal fate!
Creators have to answer, I maintain,
For what they have created. Mortified
By life infused in body and in brain
Fresh from his hands, he waited – then he cried.
I gave him boundless spiritual pain.
Did I regret my deeds? Ha! Walton lied!