Unrequited

I started at seven days,
when umbilical meets embryo.
Seven days for seven sins;
nine months to ponder the ways

society will cast me out.
Abandoned before I crowned
the first thing I did was spit
on the nurse's shirt. Passed on

to Mother, I gleamed the elusion
of love, or hate - I can't remember;
I was one minute old, but the cord
had been cut, and I was set free.

Or so I thought, until my mind
began to wander. Oh, the insanity;
it had taken over me. No thought
left unrelinquished, nor action

was predestined until
the age of seven, when my mind
split, and half went on to heaven.
So I am stuck with the greater

of two evils, a puppet for the play,
trying to do what's right
and keep the puppeteer at bay.
But if I'm to die, do not delay,

or kill me in any conventional way.
Burn me at the stake and pray—
I do not make it back someday.