Western

I am the outlaw in the black hat.
        My shiny black boots match
my shiny black gun. A horse
         is what I am wanting
the worst. I used to have a horse.
            I named it Want
for sport. Want died.
            With one quick lick
of a scythe, I cut up the head
         of lettuce
for Want to eat.
         I cut the short
wheat into a yellow path
         for Want to enter through.
It ran from me, Want.
         It made me mad
that it was man enough
         to do so. I laughed
in the face of Want.
         When it opened its head
to let out a sound
         with my last three bullets
I stopped it.
         Where my heart should be
there is a cold, cold wind.
            I hurt myself
for it, its nothingness
         and its quiet.