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The Dancer

Whispers from above,
The voices of angels calling to her
lights of New York
shining, beckoning

He blocks the doorway
Runs a finger down her arm
Alcohol, cigarettes on his breath
This room, so familiar, so
This man, so familiar, so

One tear,
The world holds its breath
It splashes to the floor.

Down the steps,
His voice, his hands
Almost forgotten
The music
A castle, made of crumbling stone
Despair and decay coating its walls,
But also
The music is inside her
A dress of pale pink silk.
She twirls, her face once so very beautiful
did you know
that she used to want to be a ballerina?

Forgotten dreams.
Her mother’s fingers
Hair coiled around them
she smiles
Wouldn’t you like to be a child again,
She spins, face and arms lost
In a blur of pink.
So fast
to Remember.
to Forget.
Falls to the ground,
Her dress a halo as she kneels

The castle disappears, him again.
You’re mine for the night.

She walks,
pale dress hanging from skeletal shoulders
Toward the lights of New York where
she will be a ballerina.

One gunshot, One drunken man
One dead whore
Her blood coats the streets
The blood of Nobody.

The police shake their heads
the body is removed
the blood that will never wash off.
did they know
that she wanted to be a ballerina?

The above piece is an original work.

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