AN: This is a short poem based on the scene from The Prestige where Angier creates the first clone in his machine, and after staring in wonderment for a moment, kills it. Written in First Person, in the perspective of the clone. Enjoy! Reviews are always welcome!

When I appeared across the room

We were different, and the same

Our consciousness identical

We even shared the name

But Still I knew as I awoke

I was a different man

I searched our mind, our memories,

Until I saw the plan

Gasping, I looked up at him

And he stared at me in awe,

My existence greatly pleased him

But his heart I could not thaw

His eyes showed guilt and pity

As he quickly seized his gun

And as I saw it rise to me,

my wits did surely run.

"No!" I cried, "don't do it!"

But the trigger he did seize.

And my life he put an end to,

with a simple, gentle, squeeze.

While I fell he turned away,

certain I was finished,

But as I fell, I screamed at him,

my strength not yet diminished.

"How many now!? How many more

will die beneath your stage!?"

And suddenly, he turned to me

with a cruel and newfound rage.

"No! Cease talking you! you...duplicate,

a mere facsimile!

You're just a reproduction, replication;

an unreal imitation of me!"

"But this is real!" I pointed

at the bloodstain on my shirt.

"How could a carbon copy

be susceptible to hurt?"

And with a growl he left me,

to die all on my own.

My mind, it dwelled upon his words

was I really just a clone?

Oh no, I thought there, with a smile

for when we all are dead

My brothers and I will take revenge

and haunt that man till his mind deserts his head.