smells obscure, but not unpleasant, quite new to the taste, taste of burning pheasant with the feathers stripped away as i set them astray, chewing off the layers of urban decay to which my stomach rumbles with much unease suddenly filling my viscera with acid, as i bend down on my knees moral dilemmas enter my mind, as i drink its blood like wine i rectify my needs, with the hunger divine my tears salt the flesh beneath my palette thinking that it suffered much, as i bashed it with a malet