I was born in death, blue lab coats, operation table, frantic commands;
The woman who made me, her fragile frame still as her heartbeat,
Long gone by my first cry.

The first week of my life, I was a miserable and wee little thing,
Suffocated by oxygen pumps and feeding tubes;
My frantic sobs trapped in that life support box.

My childhood was a lesson in extreme economy;
My mother told me that greens were worth more than pages of ink,
And clothing was a waste of cash because I grow out of them too fast.

School never made a difference for me;
Whether two plus three equaled five, the sores and scars won't go away.
Instead, I learned by cutting class,
Geography of the garbage alley, politics from the streets,
And attended a community college as the imminent drop-out type.

It was my 23nd birth day when I came home to a foreign town
Away my youth, the slaughterhouse of dreams.
I went into the business world, trying to leave it all behind,
But instead, ended up at a sullen office desk, with my unemployed mind.

I eventually married a lonely and divorced woman,
And made love to her when she remembered to ask.
We talked plenty: the bills, the furniture and the food,
But I never found out who she was, and we never had a child.

I grew old, aching with ambition,
And scorned the glances of pity and care.
I traveled the world in my modest apartment,
And became knowledgeable in many disciplines.

I learned physiology with my bedside mirror, and
Medicine with my different anti-depressants.
I picked up a foreign language, listening to my wife's grumbles,
And history through my fading memories.

I was born when I took my last breath,
Devoid of the worries, the pains, and the burden of my heart.
I've transcended into a greater existence;
Finally free in my morbid confinement.