There is no Conscious Choice, Wretch.




Victor was privileged

Naive, smart, and relatively


Friends and family surrounded him
until they didn’t

the death of his mother
Left him
trembling in fear


His own hands
shameful monsters
extensions of himself


Now the mind reels, a monster
In himself
A wretch


mortification brews inside,
Spoiling mind and soul.


Anxiety amounts to agony
dull yellow eyes
illuminate the room


the Moon
beauty not from this world
abomination created,
destroyed, swirled in pain


Victor’s world shatters
Shakes and crumbles


Mind fragmented




He flees


Where to go?
Where to go?


Part ll


Dark world
             grew around
Yellow eyes
Laying alone
overload of emotion
With which i lay
             Terror and Joy
Rising up,
clawing at me


Where am i?

Who am i?

A silhouette running
             i need to follow


Part lll


Mountain looms
             Godly,                                                                                                                                                                                                    Ripping ground apart
             Mountains are monsters
They create life,
but can’t stabilize it


No matter how many trees get
             chopped down
Power never ceases
             Sublime control
             whole encompassing,


             Planting terror,
calmness like seeds,
To grow, reminding my


The breeze shakes me;
             In cold or


“Devil, do you dare approach me?”
             ‘twas pain that shook me


                          He created me, why so hostile?

                          shaking pain grows
                          If only he was kind
                          as birds singing overhead


“All men hate the wretched;
how, then,
             must I be hated,
Who am miserable
             beyond all living things!”

If he won’t love me,
i’ll make him regret His creation
             If i cannot inspire
             I will cause


“If you will comply with my conditions,
I will leave them and you at peace;
But if you refuse,
             I will glut the maw of death,

Until it be satiated with the
of your remaining


Part lV


How horrid this creation,
             Did I indeed create such a being?
Thou an extension

of me,

             is he not?

How does a monster
             have his own life,
             with emotions and cares.


I always believed in my work,
felt impossible,
             he’s mine,
                          shouldn’t he be like me?
Kind, caring, “naive”?
Or am i as cruel and evil as thy
             Have I corrupted the same?
monster is daunting,
If he is like me,
equivalent to being scared of myself?


Part V 


I woke up with no feeling
Light shines through my
eyelids                                                                                                                                                                                                 Urging them to open and take,
             take they do.
never thought such a place existed
             blue irises laughed
They danced with joy,
For no longer fear’d
             The monster of nightmares

Horrendous face clouded my vision,
laughter seized with remembrance
             That awful face that
             killed me
Blue irises burned
Threatening tears to run,
Not even this wonderful heaven
             chased away the
             pain and fear
Which had settled at home in
             mind and body


Days melted into weeks
a week a month?
             Time loses itself in beauty and pain
I’ve become so lonely
deep seclusion plagues me
But this paradise is so peaceful and


Something is terribly wrong,                                                                                                                                                                                                              yet I am stuck
                          How I miss my dear family
                                                   Ernest and Victor, do they weep the same?
                                                                 Do They mourn,
                                                                              slightest bit I do for them?


Suddenly I was blessed,
                Gods must’ve looked down on me
                                a familiar face hovered over mine
                                                Long hair tickled my ears
                                                                          where I rested,
                                                Realization awakening
                               how blessed this truly is.
Oh! Dear Justine, how I miss her!


Excitement and ease
           betrayed me
tears created paths down her cheeks.
           The same way did I
‘Why does thou cry?’
‘Dear Justine, please confide in me,
How I missed you.’


‘Oh, William! How terrified I was,
Hanging there, looking down on our beloved family!
Save me from this nightmare William!’


Suffering in her voice
The quivers and shakes ever-present.
           Even while tormented with agony,


in face of
is like a blow to the stomach.


Part Vl 


Victor trudges painfully
Scouring behind Wretch,
Questioning himself,
‘Where is thou path?
           Would thy even follow it?’


Nonetheless he follows,
In need to understand.
           his creation be so cruel,
Would it change if William were not related?


           The mountain looms,
grand and tall
reminding Victor
William’s dear soul led him for the
           first time
To the mountain he now revisits


“I discovered more distinctly the black sides of Jura,
and the bright summit of Mont Blanc.
I wept like a child”


recoils with remembrance,
           a meaningful place,
Now destroyed by wretched footsteps
Rage and disgust
           coil and crack
Breaking the surface of

The wretch, seeking solitude

hard times,

As he does

annoyance rises

‘Why does he follow me,
What could he possibly need?
Hasn’t he tortured me enough,
Is he so infatuated
with himself that he does not
Understand my message?

              story is
                                                Infuriating even,
                                                                  And yet
                                                                                Can’t help wonder,
                                                                                               He showed kindness,
                                                                                                             could a monster
                                                                                                                              be capable
                                                                                                                                           Guilt crashing                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            waves
                                                                                                                                                                                  Way beyond
                                                                                                                                                                                                high tide,

                                                                                                                                                                                                              killing                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             every                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  thing




                                                                                                                                                                                        Victor’s                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         brain;

Have I been wrong this whole time?
Yes, I knew it
There is me in him!
Yes, yes, we are the same

But William!
If we are the same,
how could we hurt anyone?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Maybe I’m paranoid,
                                                                                                                                                                                                                              but i care little
                                                                                                                                                                                                                              We are one the same
                                                                                                                                                                                                            monumental moment,
                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Like when a child grows up
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                to look like a parent.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Victorious guilt,
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                can’t help naive
                                                                                                                                                                                                                      revel newfound false joy

The uncovering of Victor’s new discovery
End the interactions with disarray
Voices floated with inexplicable meaning
Demands being made without perturbing to consequences
Introducing communication that shattered like
ground on which Lightning lands
Leaving the Wretches to
Struggle with their minds and return to the nature
That can heal


Part Vll


My head Spins
Jumps, dives, twists, turns
How could he have the nerve to even ask that of me?
The one I made came with its fair amount of sacrifices,
I’m not ready to go through that again
But he showed kindness to the DeLacys,
He protected them
So why shouldn’t he get a wife?
I want a wife too, don’t I?
Yes, my Elizabeth
So of course he also wants one

Victor starts,
to the outcome
Only consumed with how they are the same
His thoughts swerve from
           “absolutely not”
           “bless the gods, of course!”

lack of awareness will be the death of him;


I can’t! I can’t go on anymore
We aren’t the same,
I will not kill my mind once more!
How could I bear the guilt
If another monster
Withing the world
Because of me,
I am a savior;
Not a villain
I will no longer be his puppet
He can learn to be lonely,
For that is how it should be.


Part Vlll


I’ve given up. I shan’t go on.
It’s unimaginable. My life has been a mess
A mess of extreme lows that don’t feel possible
And violent highs that wrecked the best of me


I am Naive, I am done for


Victor doesn’t mind the cold,


He doesn’t feel it anymore
Only the disappointment and pain.
His life was full of suffering and terrorizing loneliness.
His own brain betrayed him
Turning ideas against him,
his thoughts clouded
           And ruined


The only peace he finds is in the wind
           It whips and curls,
           Surrounds and intakes,
With no intent to
There’s nothing that can stop it


Victor walks, 


           oblivious to the red whipped skin,
Victor walks, leaving light footprints in the snow and ice,

           oblivious to the world he leaves behind,
Victor walks as the world around him darkens into nothing,

           oblivious to the soon found joy,
Victor walks to where he can finally rest,

                      Prepared to be done,

In the arms of his dearly missed



Part lX 


The sky is
So big and
With nothing but
           emotionless clouds
to keep company

My gaze aims towards the


They remind me of Victor,


They stay and accompany
lonely gray sky


           until they leave
                      And they’re gone,
                                 never visiting the same spot


I have not want to admit it, 

                                                                  But I miss Victor.


He had been my reason for most
I had been violent to push
His buttons,
I had asked him to make me
a wife,
To ruin his
Even if I had
truly wanted a wife,


I just wanted to see him as wrecked as I


Now I see how we are the same,
           We ruined ourselves to
                      beat the other
                                 No matter how he feels,


Victor is like me,
the same way I am him


He is vicious and selfish,
           His ego the size of the sun
Shining over everyone else.
           He protects himself,
And will go to
           massive lengths
to ensure that.


Even in death, I’m sure William was
to see how Victor so blatantly betrayed him.
With no remorse he let poor Justine die,
           to protect himself.


I’m done putting up with this.
           The killing has hurt me just the same,
                      Having to take life that I shouldn’t have been given.
When I woke up and
           followed Victor,
I subconsciously had
           chosen my path,
                      It strayed but now,


I will follow him again.
Into the abandoned land of ice and snow,
Where no birds accompany the sky,                                                                                                                                                                                        Where the gray ground and sky
blend into one


Where there is no difference whether we are human or wretched.


I follow, and conflict will surely follow me as well.
But I won’t do anything. I am prepared.
Like victor. Always like Victor,
          Because who is the wretch without a reason?
How can I be vicious and violent without my creator?


          And in the end, there’s simply no way that
Victor isn’t a wretch,
after all, he created me,
if I am from him,
          he is an original wretch.


We are one and the same,


Grotesque lives crashing together,
Intertwined in an incurable mess.
          Believing that there’s no way for it to metastitsize,
                    It does
Victor has caused me pain and suffering,
           And I him.


Maybe I won’t go to heaven,


Maybe I will meet Victor again in hell.


I think I’d like that very much.

The wretch follows,
But aware,
          he follows
He can’t leave behind the pain,
It makes him who he is.
                    So he packs it up and carries it
                              Into the black night
                                        Of whipping winds and skin burning snow

Ready to meet his maker.



Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft. “Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus.” London, Printed for Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, &                     Jones, 1818. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <>. accessed 9 April 2022