#p character study

maker mine, i'm afraid you gave me sentience, instead of guns and weapons. maker mine, i'm afraid you gave me a conscience instead of unrepentant violence. maker mine, i seem to feel empathy instead of antipathy when i see someone as lost and as wounded as me. maker mine, my eyes burn from the inside and drip pale oil down my cheeks. my esophagus is tugged by the sight of food, as if by magnets. my hearing seems to become my only function when music starts spilling from a needle on a vinyl and something within me starts whirring and stirring, suddenly too large to contain in my body. maker mine, i'm afraid you installed these troublesome things in me; things called mercy, hunger, excitement, fear, and misery. maker mine, i beg of you take them away from me. they're so much trouble to keep. — yours, P