While I was busy being an unicorn, my unicorn body get infested by parasites.

small red dots appeared on my white skin. mostly on the groin.

but also on the legs, on the back , on the side, on the ass.

my skin started to hitch to burn to pulse.

instead of being a protection my skin started to be a battle field, invaded, pierced, dug.

[we are used to think our body ends at our skin, nail and hair last rampart at the extremes peripheries. Skin is considered to be a division between in

and out, the container which hold all the mass bowels, obviously it s not like that.

If not, for example, I could have never been an Unicorn  ++]**[+

As an Unicorn, I believed in boundary,

but the boundary that separated me from me and the outside world was broken, crossed.

I walked and ran. I squirmed. I kept moving to escape from the parasites I carried with me.

it didn’t work.

so I walked and ran again,

to break even more the barrier between me and the surrounding world. To rip off the boundary. To dissolve the separation that was the place of the

funeral march.

with hunger I was looking for rubbing.

The parasites inhabited the skin.

I could feel them walking between Shoulder Blades, between Thighs, behind Elbow, around Wrist, under Scrotum.

Hands, once devoted to the caresses, scratched the skin to detach it.

To stay, to listen was denied us.

All I felt in the quiet was the itchy noise of this macabre gait.

The skin, once sensitive to its own internal movements as to the thin passages of a breeze, was tilled by these tiny tireless egg producers.

In a few weeks without my realizing it, they had almost colonized my whole unicorn body.

And my mind, too.

by closing my eyes I could see them; opening tunnels, weeding, traveling in Uber for long crowded highways, getting married en masse in underunicorn-skin subways that ran from
the elbow to the armpit, from the infra scapula to the intersection of the eighth and the ninth rib, where they

stopped to continue by foot to the crotch area, due to works in progress for the construction of a funicular that would throw them in a few seconds on

the sacred Mount Penis, or back down Anus Valley.

There, where it all started. The unknown. The darkness. The negative. The South. The back. The Down.

From rubbing and redness. From the lugubrious and dark effort to pierce the boundaries and let the great exterior penetrate.

What a pleasure to welcome him and feel it bulky. Where the eyes cannot see. Where by how much effort the head does not approach.

twists, gets tangled, the body. Somersaults, turns, flips over.

But does not catch.