I sit here now
and count the hours, with the ticking of the clock.
Shutters closed tightly. The afternoon sun beats bright outside.
Shadows creep across the floor
taunting me, infiltrating my mind.
I melt into the wall.
I know there can be no more running.
I was promised absolution,
salvation,
by the men who bound me in chains.
This bloody war rages.
Loyalty it seems is bought and sold when the price is right.
The trail ends here.
No more running.
I can smell it in the air.
Death.
Sickly sweet. I know it well.
They died for me.
Charley and the boy.
For what? For nothing.
They said I am charmed,
I say I am cursed.
No more
running.
The darkness soothes me
calls me into it.
The clock on the wall whirs,
another hour has past
and Billy Bonney is still alive.
**Henry McCarty, alias William Bonney, alias Billy Bonney, alias Billy the Kid, died the night of July 13, 1881. Shot in the dark by Sheriff Patrick Floyd Garrett.
