staring at John, I laid my hand on the piece
looking back, he said a lot to me, had my back
he muttered as I made the move, correcting me
all the while the conscience screamed
“can you keep one word?”
and I’ve heard there’s less to life than this
that living is a waste, to eat and breathe
but I refuse to believe, I beg to differ
as I linger my legs grow stiffer
I’ll figure out what this means
