My skin surrounds my tattoos,
Blood rushing to my eyes and down to the chessboard,
My grip tightening because you feign innocence,
And I know when someone isn't my friend.
Now my tattoos are red against your neck,
I'm smiling even when it's inappropriate,
All because you mistook this for a game of checkers.
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Author:
Raye (
Offline) - Published: July 28th, 2026 21:04
- Comment from author about the poem: When the perpetrator pretends to be the victim but I know better than they do.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
The use of chess and checkers as metaphors in this poem of lies combines with tatoos to make for a highly metaphoric poem. Very nicely done with multiple implications in such simple wording. Love it and a fave
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