Hunter S. Thompson, 1955

(yes, that Hunter S. Thompson. He was 15. Submitted here as a curiosity.)

I could see the moon hung high in the sky and the mocking grin on his face.
I know he was looking straight at me, perched high in my lonely place.
His voice floated down through the crisp night air and I thought I heard him say, “It’s too bad my boy, It’s an awful shame that you have to go this way.”
This chilled my heart and I shuddered with fear, for I knew he was right as right could be.
It was then that my skin began to crawl and I thought, “What I’d give to be free!”
Her face came back to me then like a flash, I remembered the touch of her lips.
I remembered the beautiful gold of her hair, her sky-blue eyes and the touch of her finger-tips.
Then I cursed myself and tore my hair for I knew I’d been wrong from the start.
I’d thrown away every chance I’d had and finally broken her heart.
My grief was of that special kind that only comes to men when they reach the end of a lonesome road and see what they could have been.
I cried as i thought of the people outside who were happy, and honest, and free.
And I knew that not even the lowest one would care to trade places with me.
Cold sweat broke out on my forehead now and my scalp felt tight and drawn.
What could I do to escape my fate, the electric chair at dawn?
I seized the bars, and shrieked, and wailed, like a soul who is lost in hell.
But the only voice that answered me was the mid-night toll of a bell.