#17
I was never fond of the bright
blinding colours of the nursery
or the high voices of women who tried
to teach me how to dance
one step, two step, I'd stand on their toes
so that when the music finally stopped
they'd make jokes and laugh, and remember
me
There's no dancing here, inside the grey,
Where the walls so high they barricade the sunlight,
only whispers of stories nobody would tell
of murder, rape and vice
and in my dreams I see them
talking
about how they never saw it coming
never would have thought
that the clumsy kid who never
learned to dance
would step on the wrong persons toes
and come tumbling
tumbling down
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