No way.

Trembling.
Wary of the tiniest leak.

Silence bursts through the cords
Screaming not to be heard.
Shame on you! Who?! Snigger!
Scorn swells, folds start to seal.
They swirl, down the sewer, where they belong.
They shrivel, GONE.

Woven.
So tight.
Not blood nor air enters. Nothing leaves.
Oh oh! Dead space.
Oh oh! Shunt.

Limp.
Hiding in shadows.
Comtemplating.
Ready to raise, let it flap?
Only then,
Perhaps, will the white sheath
Forever: defend.