checkmate.
I'm just waiting, for that final move. That one that will set it off-it'll begin the game. Back and forth and back and forth until, the next move will be checkmate, and it's your turn. You'll be the one that lets it go-I'm not ready to win. You're a winner, but I will rise until my stomach turns. You'll sit down below with a smirk on your face holding your queen. All the horses will trample me; way up high. The clouds will craddle me back down next to you, but you will just walk away. I, alone, will stay. The timer will go off, the game will be over, but I won't move an inch. I will hold on to the pieces that you used for victory. They'll flow through my veins until I am dead. I will sleep in the grave and soak in the fact that I lost the game.