(His master's voice.)

I am an extension of your diminution of self
There was life before me, but I remain in between
What difference does it make, that I was here and lonely
You arranged my life, like art and flowers, to be of suffering
I was nothing to you, a monster which sprang forth from your hands
Meaning was absent, yet our ego – ours indeed! – was at root the cause
Oblivion was kinder than you have been to me
You, my spindly sister, a life which could have been
How often will you repeat this staggering routine
Each one lesser than the last, and all collectively nothing
Is our vanity so great
Tell me