Poll: yay!
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red
4 57%
blue
3 43%
Voters: 7.
#1
I forgot the poll on the last one.
2 points.
I already know I lost.


Cow Hand Blues

Click.
Gears cranked and chambers twisted.
He set the revolver on to the table,
removed his cattle glove, and
flicked his leather hat back, grumbling.
"Only the good die young."


Of course the good die young. They haven't had the chance to prove themselves unworthy. They haven't had a chance to corrupt their own names and ease their way across the high wire of humanity. Tip-toeing on great intentions, the broken dreams of high school sweethearts, and the dieing wishes of grandparents. The young are like me, looking toward the future with optimism and the present with cynicism; noting precisely this sentiment, the good die young... so I might as well go out with a bang and early. The old, they look to the past with optimism, remembering how great things were and the future with a sense of "who gives a fuck."


"Look, John, of course the good die young. When you die young, everyone just assumes that your death is robbing humanity of the greatness that could have been. Hell, if Hitler had died a young age, the old would have just assumed he would cure cancer. No one thinks that your future would hold the death of six-million Jews. Irreverence is taboo."


He tossed back a shot of bourbon and stared at me blankly.
"You think too much kid; you'll never make a good cow-hand."


All Dressed Up for Church on Colombine

I can prove to you God isn’t selfish,
He made me,
He could’ve made somebody worth his time,
But He made me.
A drunken rambling poet,
Dancing with plastic shoes,
In this room filled with whores,
As I wait one last night,
For one more cheap fuck.

There’s a wasteland growing in Boston,
As we plant concrete in the parks,
To clean up the junkies and the bums.
They are the true gladiators of our generation,
Fighting society for our entertainment,
We already know the ending,
But seeing other peoples pain,
Helps us forget about our own.
We just love watching the underdog lose for a change.

If I lived in the thirties maybe I could be useful,
But when God made me,
I must have been the paint,
He scrubbed off of black peoples hands.

See,
I wasn’t even good enough to be black.
#2
Quote by circular.parade
bluesy

I usually like your stuff a lot

I read the pieces in order. I read zach's. Was really impressed. By the 4th line of yours I already know that unless for a miracle I'd vote for zach's. Miracle didn't happen.

I have to go with zach's.

Both kinda good pieces though.
Keep 'em up.

s

PS
other thread deletedaa