Jets of shadows and pearl visages nightmare edgedcrawling, writhing, tugging, tearing, wrenching outof the cobblestone well mountedin the deep and dark recesses ofmy trauma-scorched soul. A suitcase always packed. Fluid, tentacles, eyes,oozing outwards, folding back, then again.Nothing changes, the wrinkles repeat.The lines of luggage are overflowingwith my abominations. The door’s permanently open,