I'd never read a book out of choice. Just

At school when I bothered to attend. I

Went in the school library to chat up

The librarian and torment the swots,

While looking up dirty words in the big

Dictionary.

                    I never bothered with

Libraries until I was a guest of

Her Majesty. A quiet place to sit

And think, breaking up the tedium of

A long stretch, as stir is a state of mind.

 

With time on my hands, I started to read

To alleviate the mind-numbing grind.

Magic was to be found in those pages.

My mind opened by the power of words.

New vistas. Endless possibilities.

 

Transporting me from those stark walls. Away

From the stench of that humanity; the

Neanderthal grunting and sexual

And violent threats of thugs and nonces.

 

Away from the tedious routine of

Lights out. Pissing in buckets. Slopping out.

Day after day after day after day.

The realisation that blagging with

Shooters is just a mug's game, worth at least

A ten stretch for starters.

 

                                             It is no life

To be looking over your shoulder for

Some shiv-wielding upstart looking to make

A name for himself.

 

                                    I can now see that

Violence only breeds more of the same,

Becoming a never-ending cycle.

So I rose above all that, equipping

Myself for loftier enterprises.