My body is starved, yet is repulsed by touch.

I want it and loathe it like the one last piece of fruit that's gone moldy.

Any touch, especially the thought of being touched opens up a can of worms I can't close again:

The bad has forever contaminated the good.

Will I ever enjoy being touched again?

I have the right to good touch, yet can't bare to be annihilated by merely being touched.

My skin feels like a bad body suit that won't come off. I want another one, a cleaner one that fits perfectly and makes me feel good again.

The skin I have has too many ugly fingerprints that won't wash away. I have to live with the stains of the annihilator's touch, yet crave a beloved's touch to wash the rest away.

I'm hungry.