do the lacerations disappear when the eyes of the wincing soul blindfolds
accumulating, embracing the unseeing shroud as a coverlet for
the chinks callously transforming into burning holes .
Can the myopia not witness the screaming gapes that refuse to be buttoned
or cinched
squeezing on spaces still unopened to shut doors.
Braving as if the  sallies pine to be submerged in oceans digging tsunamis
Flouncing back into wounds penetrating causing incisions with each excavation.
No they carve their name on each pit with deepening darkness.
The lacerations come back hurtling , intensifying every agonizing recurrence
multiplying like smarmy flesh eating insects festering on moth eaten soul.