Bottom line…you get through it, by kicking and fighting, and shouting, and screaming…and refusing to give up…
Well done to you for winning! And being here brave enough to talk about it. It is brave when you are prepared to let people read this stuff. 
I hope life is being kinder to you now.
1 Like
Bullets? They can’t harm me, because I’m already dead inside.
Enemies?..I’ve lost count of those who wish me harm…
Loved ones?
Maybe one, that got in the way of a lead ‘hello’…
Future? It depends on how many sonsabitches that still stand in my way.
How much time do I have left?
May as well take you bastards with me, so kiss your asses goodbye…
+Three Years ago I had no one.
Now, I have me…
No one to blame, and no one to shame…
Just me.
Two chances to redeem my worthless life…
Payback for my deceitful wife.
I don’t mind shooting you in the back
A wrecked life…
Just you, and me.
Three cartridges in my gun…
Just for you, and me…
Aim straight, you bastard,
Cos’ my aim will be sure…
Be in no doubt,
my aim is destined for thee.
I have nothing, or no-one else,
but I still have me…
1 Like
Drag my ass to Hell, bastard.
Do it now, bastard.
Hurting, you bastard,
but still here, you bastard…
Bleeding out, you bastard,
Life going, bastard…
You have nothing, bastard,
Who care’s, bastard?
Who wins, bastard…?
NO SLEEP WITHOUT TEARS,
NO WAKING WITHOUT HEARTACHE.
TODAY, I SHOT MYSELF IN THE FOOT,
AT LEAST I DIDN’T SHOOT 'EM IN THE BACK.
NO TIME TO MAKE AMENDS,
NO TIME TO MAKE TRUE FRIENDS…
DAWN’S A BREAKIN’, TIME TO MOVE ON,
SAME OLD DAY, SAME OLD WAY…MOVIN’ ON TO NOWHERE…
ALONE.
NO TEARS LEFT BEHIND TO SHOW MY COMIN’…
AND NO TRACKS OF THE YEARS TO BETRAY MY LEAVIN’…
When the time came to shoot, I shot.
Clean through the heart,
didn’t care a jot if it missed a mile,
just hoping that it would hit the spot.
Never thought that an innocent,
so innocent and clueless,
would pay the price for one
who would just shoot and fire.
It seems to be the thing, nowadays,
when all we can do is please nobody no way.
Think I just spent my wish, my last dollar, and my last grain of humanity upon a shit storm…
** This particular shit-storm ain’t gonna head my way without pain in the way…**
Had my day, shot the bastards, had my way…
Prepared to to pay the price…but not today, amigos…not today.
I didn’t think that love would cut,
not half so deep as the blade that shred our love.
Blade, a piece of steel…
Bitch bastard that you stole my life from me.
A stroke of the blade,
A shimmer of light,
just a shade of the shite that you live;
What’s it going to take for a bitch like you,
to just leave me alone, and die.
I don’t need your lies, your excuses, or your tears,
I just need the truth, so close and yet so far.
I just need you to tell me where we went so wrong.
Say goodbye to all those years…
Adios to all the tears…
My cross, I love it dear.
Come closer to Heaven, and I’ll send you there…
Down to my last drop of cactus juice…
Drank the water from a hoof-print,
and rode just about ever horse that couldn’t be ridden.
Made a home under every monument that the ‘Duke’ ever visited.
I even met ‘The Wild Bunch’…nice guys were they.
Not sure what to make of ‘Young Guns’, or ‘Dances With Wolves’…
I guess that they are willing, then I’m able, to keep the wild, wild, west alive.
Can’t sleep,
And the camp-fire doesn’t help;
thought I heard the cry of death, but it was just a coyote yelp.
Soon going to kill a man, who used to be one of my friends.
Not sure where justice starts,
and where loyalty to William H. Bonney ends.
Struggling with my duty to badge,
and to Governor and country too,
I’ll be damned, and I’m not sure, if Bonney deserves his coming due.
Who has ever heard of a hero called ‘Billy the Kid’?
Only cheap dime novels,
and only you, William Bonney, only you…
"When the so and so becomes myth, or legend, or whatever…
Print the whatever…"
Wise words, or so i remember…relating to some sonavabitch named Liberty Valence…
Just so many words, thrown about, like so many other ‘legends’…
Just buffalo shit, blowing in the wind…
All horse-shit…legends in the West didn’t exist…
Just us, the poor bastards that trod the earth, while greedy bastards built upon our misery…
’No justice, no right, or wrong…just lead, silver, gold, or a rope.'
It didn’t matter that right was right, or that wrong was wrong,
the way of the mob ruled all.
**The mob, protesting, digressing, inhaling and digesting, all the ammunition that was at hand…
Soon, there would be nothing that was black or white, gray, or a lighter shade of indifference.
**No matter how much we tried to maintain sanity, we were always attempting to break down a brick wall manned by patriots.
’ETERNAL’
Truth be told, I’m shit-eyed scared.
Left behind a killin’, and a noose lies between,
Not sure where I am now, or even where I’ve even been…
Same desert road ahead,
no place to rest my head,
It’s gonna be a while before my load I shed.
No easy stretch ahead for an outcast such as I.
I keep on a goin’, without really believin’ or knowin’…,
If the road ahead is Hell’s own furnace…I pray to God, that’s it’s gonna be a snowin’….
I won’t be surprised if no son bitch anywhere leaves me high and dry,
’cos it twice times times twenty that I should pay what I owe…
Just hopin’ that my life will be taken, but, please, dear Christ Jesus, not my soul…
Taken, not believin’
that’s the one, the enticing one, who is always the most deceivin’,
when the shadow comes a callin’…not happy…just a grievin’…
Was originally going to do an entire new Thread, but I figured having it here was more appropriate. Here’s my take on Tigrero’s (Loco’s) fate after Il Grande Silenzio. Hope you all like how I write
Five men lay dead around the Bounty Killer. This wasn’t an unusual sight, but was for the fact that the dead men were friend’s of the gunman, and that it was the woman standing before him who killed them.
“But…but you’re one of us,” he said in pure shock.
“No,” her blue eyes as cold as the snow all around them as she spoke, “I bring the target to justice, not death.”
“What’s the difference,” he replied, trying to regain his composure, “they still die by the rope and you get paid for having brought them to it.”
“That’s justice and order for you.”
The man knew better by not trying to be smart, Belle Bowie lived on the fringes of society, but she was no coldblooded killer, nor did she ever steal from someone who she thought would need it. She became a Bounty Hunter initially to make money after being cleared of a crime she never committed, but found she liked bringing in those the law had trouble getting, some getting prison terms, others getting the rope, and even some proving there innocence, she did the hunting with a clear conscious. The man she was facing was running from the Marshals from Utah for the deaths of several defenseless bandits, the majority of whom had been wrongly labeled such, and the Governor was determined to right that wrong and placed a legitimate bounty on the man and his cohorts, but only to the honest hunters. She didn’t like men like the ones she was after, they made her’s and so many others difficult.
Sure, it wasn’t normal for a Bounty Hunter to have feelings regarding a target, but Belle made sure to give everyone the breaks, but in this case she was more than willing to make an exception,
"Listen, the man began as he slowly motioned towards a pistol that fell in the snow, “maybe we can make some form of deal…”
As he went for the gun, Bowie, quicker than he was, pulled out her shotgun and sent to barrels into the man’s abdomen.
“Goddamn you bitch!,” he shouted holding his stomach and writhing. “Kill me!”
Bowie didn’t acknowledge him as she turned him over and tied his hands and feet. Taking a blanket from one of the dead men, she draped it over her horse so the man wouldn’t be bleeding on him.
“I deserve better than this,” he shouted and coughed as she secured him and rode off, “a bullet in my head, not bleedin’ out from goddamn buckshot.”
He remarks were met with a firm punch to his head.
“You killed a man, a man I respected,” she began. “Yeah, he was a killer of Bounty Hunters, but only the ones who killed for the pleasure and the money. He spared my life when he saw I was bringing in the bounty to stand trial. I could tell he didn’t approve of the trade I chose, but he saw I was honest and left me to it. One shot to the head is too merciful for you, you’re gonna suffer.”
A few hours later, Belle Bowie met up with some Texas Rangers escorting some prisoners to the nearby jail.
“Got one more here for you boys,” she said as she dismounted and removed her quarry.
“What have you got, a big one?” the lead Ranger asked as he helped her load the man on the wagon.
“It’s Tigrero, that fella who led the Utah Massacre a few months back and caused the death of Silence the gunman.”
“Never thought anyone could beat him,” one of the Rangers said as he searched Tigrero for anything, “hey, wait a minute, he’s dead. Gut shot.”
“Pity,” those cold blue eyes shimmered as Belle spoke, “never said a word he was that hurt. Adios.”
2 Likes
Well written, amigo. 
1 Like
Finger on trigger…
What if I lose?
Spitting up blood while others stand and watch me die…
He’s faster than me, for sure.
Close to filling my pants now…
Want to run, but my loved one looks on…
Trying to think…! Hell and damnation!
The girl I love, or my life?
My conscience says: “Are you a man or a mouse?”
We’ll soon find out…
Made up my mind, for better or worse,
leave the cheese, amigo,
Cos I’m standin’ my hard-won ground.
They say that revenge is a dish best served cold.
No problem…I’ve been eatin’ grits and frost for six years now.
Temptation has now gone, to light a fire or seek the light.
I think my desire for revenge reaches higher and brighter.
It’s probably not Heaven, which I bid adios to a while ago.
It’s definitely not the Mexicanos who used to tend my land.
It could be Hell that beckons me every day…who knows…not me, nor thee.
God above, lookin’ from on high, tell me, please, which pawn you will move next.
I have to confess, dear Lord…I am more than slightly vexed…beginnin’ to believe I’m hexed.
There’s no rhyme nor reason to my words spoken nor writ.
I’ve touched the amber nectar, but my draw is not impaired.
They may both come, or they may not.
No matter to me, buck-shot is still buck-shot…it spread wide and kills those most dear.
A sound outside the cabin door…I reach for the sawn-off nestled beside.
Either he’ll have me lyin’ downwards,
or I’ll nail his bad-ass behind.
There was once a trio named Eli, Lee, and Clint.
They had one thing in common…boy, they could squint.
Sunshine, or shadow, night, or day,
their wrinkles grew pronounced as they went along their way.
Their stares were well-known, and they had ably shown,
that their stubble, while grimacin’, had undoubtedly grown.
Lean, but often slightly edging to whiskey belly,
their draw was still clean, although their boots were now decidedly smelly.
No matter their appearance, they all had an adherence, to the law of the Old West:
If you go out to fight, then grit your teeth tight, and make sure you wear a clean vest.
1 Like
‘BlOOD, SWEAT, WHISKEY and WOMEN’
There’s one thing you can be sure of in the West…
Dirt, sweat, blood, whiskey, and women.
The bounty-hunters seek dollars for blood,
and the loose doves often get frisky.
As sure as mules are stubborn, and women demand pay,
the sun rises and sets on another God-forsaken day.
Ex-army, Confederate or Union, the uniform no longer pays heed,
They take the bounty, stub out the cigar, and ride out on the steed.
Revenge, money, a wrong which is never never right,
the blast of a ten-gauge shows that satisfaction for one’s soul is never in sight.
The feel of a woman, the strength of a single trigger finger.
Why feel the pain if you can taste a delight that will for now linger.
Time to move on, no grudge to hold, or reward to be claimed.
At the next stop, a chat with ‘Half-soldier’, a soldier who was fightin’, but ended up maimed.
The little man may have some information, so here’s hoping he may.
If his words lead to buried treasure, then he could make someone’s day.
Gold or silver is what I’m after…and it’s a princely sum that I’ll get.
On that alone…I’m willing to take a few ounces of lead and bet.
‘BLAZE OF GLORY …OR WHATEVER’
I really don’t why I bother.
Readin’, writin, pissin’ and shittin’…what’s it all for?
It’s like bufflalo crap that sits and dries in the sun - it’s down-pat.
Yup, raindrops are daily, weekly, monthly, and forever fallin’ on my head,
and they are really fecking me off.
I’m not fussy, but I don’t like dust, or cactus, or busy saloons,
or gunfighters, or women who ask too much, or over-priced whiskey.
No people, nor horses for courses, or lawmen or vagabonds…
no miners or diviners, and no one looking for gold.
I like a quiet life, and I like everyone, 'cept quite a few.
So, no Indians, bounty-hunters, Quakers, Mormons, Sheriffs and needy women can keep on goin’.
I’m happy with grits and beans…belchin’ and fartin’ as in-betweens.
No need for company while I have my own…
I simply need beans in the pan, and the wind beneath my feet.
Both are catered for, in what I’m about to eat.