Sometimes life flayed you
And no- one bound
The wounds.

You kept them clean by gouging out the
Soft soap.

Only deep cleansing
That searches out the grit from every sliver
Of raw flesh
Can keep the gangrenous pus at bay.

That open wound
Heals from the deepest level
And gets to know each layer as it heals.

Beneath the skin all humans are alike
Are blood and sinew.

Deep sorrow can fashion
An internal telescope
That peers into the inner core
That we all share
Or else it plasters over
The pulsing wound
With platitudes.

And pain avoidance
Derails empathy.