Young unicorns snatched from the impossible skies. Precious horns, ordinary chainsaws. I am left with horses revolting in the normalcy. Shipwrecked by a face all sweet and empty, like a hollow candy or an ice cream smile licked down to a cigarette I promptly extinguished. In a dead infection a desk drawer full of blurry sunflowers. Under your bare feet are only symptomatic of the monster I have become.