Gunslinger

Old pistol battle.

My hand's on the handle of a Colt .45, a peacemaker,

In the glare of the sun, a counter reflection staring back

Heat waves fuming, tension brewing in the depths of our persona

Pulling back the hammer, he does the same.

One of us will die today, if not both.

The church bell rings, it's 12, the showdown begins.

Revealing my judgement of steel, bullets biting my enemy.

I feel a sharp pain in my arm, blood running hot.

Collapsing, grasping his stomach,

I realized hes not the only one to lose what's on the inside.

Face to face with the rest of his men, outlaws.

Unsheathing Winchester, repeating death.

Advancing unscathed, one by one they hit ground

Some flee on horses, others unload rounds in order to kill.

They are no match for my vengeance.