Well we roam through this ghost town
and kick up our feet
on the bar of an
old saloon.
And we listen to rustling of dead tumbleweed
and hear a haunting piano tune
play quietly in the room.
I fear that my silver bullets
loaded with so much care
will have no effect on the occupants here
nay, they will merely kill air.
I tremble in my snakeskin boots
as a wraith like visage plants
his hand on the butt of his pistol
and offers me a dueling glance.
I know I am quicker to the draw
than any man walking these sands
But I find a fear rumbling through me
at the quickness of his ethereal hands.
Bullets made of nothing
rip me right to the soul
and I know that the trek through this ghostly remains of a town will scar me worse than anything to come or before.
My partner and I ride, fleeing, like hell is in pursuit,
before the dust of our entrance has time to settle.
His eyes wider than mine, and his hair tousled.
We never look back.
Ever look back.
Look back.
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Submission Name: Desaparecidos
