Cosmoline
And steel.
Finely tuned,
Blued and forged.
This rifle works
A perfect machine.
Designed to pierce and ****
It does it job.

One cartridge
7.62x54R.
Loaded,
The bolt clicking firmly
In its place.
I smell this machine;
Gunshot residue.

I feel this weather stock,
Fraying and polished.
It feels soft in my strong grip.
I squeeze this death.

I rest it firmly against my forehead.
My heart pounds
And I breathe deep breaths.
Adrenaline.
Exhale.
I'm gone.