deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Wolf and Queen Play Chess
She was told to never love in such a romantic way.
That romance was for the weak hearted.
That men of his taste only became bitter
When they ran out of sweet nothing's to say.
But she was already consumed by the words he used.
By the phrases he painted on the insides of her eye lids.
She was already destined to bite down on the wolves knife.
There was no moving back from this game of chess.
From all angles he had her cornered.
But somewhere she hid between the night and day.
Trying to forget his name.
Trying to regress the memories they made.
But always feeling every word he etched inside her brain.
She was predisposed to fail.
He could never truly love endlessly.
To him it was all a game.
She never saw the wolf in knights clothing.
He called check mate.
She has never been the same.
That romance was for the weak hearted.
That men of his taste only became bitter
When they ran out of sweet nothing's to say.
But she was already consumed by the words he used.
By the phrases he painted on the insides of her eye lids.
She was already destined to bite down on the wolves knife.
There was no moving back from this game of chess.
From all angles he had her cornered.
But somewhere she hid between the night and day.
Trying to forget his name.
Trying to regress the memories they made.
But always feeling every word he etched inside her brain.
She was predisposed to fail.
He could never truly love endlessly.
To him it was all a game.
She never saw the wolf in knights clothing.
He called check mate.
She has never been the same.
Published 30th Dec 2013
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