Like blood, like biting steel, bitter and sweet, crawling down my throat like honey.

My knees hit the ground and I taste it in my mouth, violent victory, blood runs down my chin.

My shaking hands grab the red soaked dirt, oh iron and grit, I squeeze it between my fingers.

It mixes with the smell of rot, sweet and sickening, molasses with a putrid taint. Metallic on my tongue.

I lift my head, my hair crusted to my scalp like a rusty iron crown, I pray for rain, to wash and cleanse. But only a war torn sky stares back at me, I with a head adorned with crimson. I with trembling hands, fingers that pulled the trigger. I with the taste of victory in my frothing mouth. Like iron, and grit.

Like blood, and oh so sweet.