A game of chess

Forever forgotten are the times we played chess. Once your beloved queen, now turned into a witch by your perfidious words is my mother. Envisioned as both the knight and the king you used to stand victorious while others sacrificed, in a game where the intricate steps faded away to emphasize the outcome. I was a pawn on your chessboard, father, the witness to a delayed trial, a protective shadow of everything we knew. Spiteful words named me a profitable investment with high returns in the future. Foolishly fantasizing, not realizing that once at the top, pawns get replaced with stronger players, my path was cut short by the deceiving smile of a new owner. Wicked heart, secluded tower, king gets taken by the bishop. If this piercing gaze is my weapon, then maybe I killed you. The blood stains on our family portrait were conveniently showered in tears. Bells of bliss, dazzling beginnings, a woman in her wedding dress gripped by the hushed notes of a piano stands in front of the altar. She tried to find you in a pond and almost drowned with the fishes, her eyes two lighthouses guiding lost souls on sea. Decayed father-figure, kind by day, tyrant by night and the undying matter: Do I love you? Flesh of your flesh, mirroring motions, as if in a bizarre dance, fragments of chess pieces submerge. They are the promises of tomorrow, the lies of today and a sweet, soothing voice reminiscent of a yielding curtain falling over yesterday. - Check Mate, father!