Scent of Demise

Have you seen the crows flying
in the eleventh hour?
I had.
And dread envelops my guts
as my bones wobble in anxiety.
What is bleakness?
Is it the smell of the rustiness of a shackle,
or the odor of starkness in prison?
Could it be the scent of the blood
dripping in someone’s chest?
Perhaps, the fragrance a fresh corpse in a graveyard
as the maggots rejoice in its dead flesh?
I am uncertain.