Your Game Of Chess

By Lana   

The red poured from her skull
His badge shined in between the flashes from the light post outside
This man we trusted
Is killing us
Did he have reasoning?
He could never find the right answer to that question
So people called it a bad day
We’re victims of bad days?
They treat themselves like Gods
But what does that make us?
Peasants?
Pawns in their game of chess?
What if we don’t want to be?
I wish to be a Queen
Not a Bishop
But my choice was revoked along with the white within my skin
The white that was never there to begin with
So I remain a Bishop
And they remain as Queen
And that’s checkmate

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