Despair smells like this,
The odour of charred wood and skin,
The pungent air making way for the familiar sensation of meat on your tongue,
As you imagine it the way your mom made it.
But flesh on your taste buds,
Makes you want to choke yourself as you carefully tear it away,
From the leg of an animal you can no longer recognise.
But you're alive,
And this burnt papery skin crumbles under your teeth,
And maybe this will keep you alive,
A little more.