Destiny's Second

A motion picture is what our lives were like; a B-grade

movie with the frames brushing by,

but never really touching on us [like an on-screen lie].

The plot didn't thicken but ran right through

like cake-mix that was far too watery to really

develop into anything [something i used the director for].

But there was always the illusion that I could

fall back on. Imagine all the off-screen kisses we could of

had, and we both knew the fans would speculate,

[perhaps they would have a snowball effect? kisses to bed?]

though I didn't make it a habit to read the [trash] myself;

I liked to use my mind and my own fingers.

But when I found out of your death [cardiac arrest] --

[i soon went off the rails, dived off the deep-end, let go of it all]

I couldn't pretend anymore, not to myself. It wasn't something 

I could throw in as a character death from

our little plays [though all the times i had fantasized about

you destroying me mentally and physically].

In truth I barely knew you at all, just your eyes in the dark

[and im sure in one scene i ... let you hurt me all the more;

overlapping sensations and urges - no reality] my fingers

going over your lips, nails scraping against your bare chest.

But you were mine; hadtobe. For all the days after [and 

the ones before the funeral that i wasnt around to go to]

I would debate on throwing myself in front of a train [and

hanging myself and taking those pills that were in the 

back of my cupboard and soaking my raw wrists in warm

water] but would stop and know I would not be there to

see what was after. I knew I would get no razzle-dazzle 

funeral like you. And then... [and then] another thought

crossed my mind: I was alive - A point of conversation itself,

and you were not.

[you were always first-picked, top-dog]

I had won. ... I was alive. I could dance on your grave forever,

[if i just knew where it was...]

and yet, perhaps the irony is - you had still won.

We all die sometime. Some people just get there sooner.

In all respects. I think I was always destined to be second.

Reviews

[Noa]

Personally, I'd call this a short story rather than a poem. That said, let me bluntly go into my personal feelings about this work.

I love it.

I love all of it. The brackets add a new dimension in a way that I had never thought of myself, it's a great mechanic for altering rhythm, and it gives the piece a more personal feeling as well. Your rhymes are beautiful in their subtlety (a personal weakness of mine), and the general flow of this is all over the place indeed- making it inciting, making so I couldn't tear my eyes off the screen because it moved so fast, and I didn't want to miss a beat. Truly wonderful.

Now, I do think your final three lines could have been a bit more conclusive/powerful to end this piece. Maybe you can provide more of an explanation through your title, instead of giving a general summary through it?

Minor things, though. Sometimes prose doesn't have to say anything, as long as it conveys a feeling; something to experience, and think about. That's exactly what you've accomplished here (again, in my opinion).

Thank you for sharing your work!
-Noa

[EquivalentExchange]

You almost feel like you're getting to an epiphany of some sort but I feel like you never reach it. Like maybe you're building up to the realization that you don't have to die, but the ending doesn't feel that way. And that leads into my other comment, this piece is just all over the place. There's obviously the death and everything revolves around it, but it all seems so, nonsensical. It's a little too rich in direct comparisons. Try using your words to capture the mood instead of just your offbeat stylizations of things, which aren't consistent either. And inconstiency may be the style, but it's still hard to read. With a little work a though you could have a great piece. Sit down and think, "what do I want the readers to think/know/feel at the end of this?" Think on it.