I have miles and miles of thick, soft, delicate, fragile skin.
I am pale, I am bare, untouched.
The only thing to ever touch my pale skin was a sharp,deadly blade.
That blade, cut and cut. Harmed but in all it was the only thing to take the pain away.
I never felt another human touch my skin, never have I imagined it.
In the dark, my fingers hold my pillow tight, they pull blankets over my cold, pale body.
My fingers open the curtains to watch the rain pour down over my window.
My fingers, claw at my skin. Tearing it, scarring it.
My skin, it bleeds. My skin feels more alone than I ever have.