My only dream, for which I scream

It's a poem about what I feel as a human about myself and about those who we say are out of mind. The situation in this poem is exactly similar to mine.

Every being has a purpose,
But I don't.
One might think I'm gone,
But so is not.

Every being has a memory,
But I lack it.
One might think I'm scatty,
I bet, it's my habit.

Every being has an emotion,
But I have none.
One might take me, as a stone,
That's how, I have fun.

No emotion, no memory, and no purpose at all;
This might make me look so so grim.
You know, it's my habit; I get fun off it,
This is my only dream, for which I scream.

Author's Note

What is your view about the poem? What are the aspects that I really should focus on? And how do you rate it?