Unicorn (edit)

In the cellar I found a unicorn,
a jumbled pile in the dark.
Its skin was seared and it stank
of burnt hair. The eyes were gone.
Two red craters. The ears torn,
the tongue ripped out by the roots.
Mess of limbs folded under it,
blackened twigs. A pyre.

I smeared a drop of blood
into the hide with my fingertip
and whispered a prayer.
It thrashed, the horn struck
the radiator, throwing sparks
across the tiles. The rug burnt,
smoke rose thick in my nostrils.
I vomited, but it was milk.
A lightbulb hung from the joist,
a golden noose.

The unicorn levitated, screaming,
bit down on the naked bulb
and was thrown back to the floor.
Spit dripped from its slack jaw.
My heart beat. All I wanted
was to gather its broken limbs
up in my arms. It shuddered,
nostrils flaring, one last retch,
and its being poured
out of its mouth.

As I collapsed,
I felt something bear me up,
and everything was white.