The Dancer

There is a picture in my head of a dancer

Floating all around the room

Eyes closed, hands in the air

You can almost feel this beautiful rose bloom.

She isn’t hearing any of the talking

As the people gather to see

This miraculous woman that seems to be dancing

Everyone’s enjoyment for free.

She doesn’t feel any of the pain anymore

Just dances her heart out instead

Not for the people that want to be alive

But for those who want to be dead.

Once she was among the lost and broken

Now she can hear the music in her head

Counts the beats, and moves her feet

Then gently falls asleep in her bed.


The dancer no longer cares about storms

The people that tried to fuck up her life

Her only concern is her love and her dance

The petty people can worry of strife.



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