There’s an endless amount of birds in the sky- above the streetlamps but below the clouds, the air has become thick with feathers and the screaming of something frightened. Something is wrong.
Maybe it’s you- you’ve been pushing little crystals out from your pores like blackheads, and scales have begun to edge their way across your spine. Maybe it’s your lover, who’s become soft at the edges, translucent. You can put your hands into xir belly and feel only smoke. Maybe it’s something else.
The only thing you know, the only certainty- something is frightening the birds.