The idea of human contact can cause pleasure
Can even sound comforting
But
It’s complete and utter hell
It never caused me pleasure the first time around
And there won’t be a second round
I quit
Tag someone else in
I can’t be apart of this
My body has turned to rubber
It isn’t mine anymore
And I don’t want it
I can’t feel anything
Your fingers left prints
That even bleach can’t clean
I’ve scrubbed till my fingers bleed
But
Your fingers will always have been there
And I’ll always have to live with it
Traumatic experiences
Will always leave traces