Disclaimer: The poem is mine the character is not.

Now that that's out of the way, the whole thing behind this is: I'm sitting in typing class and all of a sudden I just start typing, not listening to the teacher 'cause you know that would never happen, and this shows up.

Review please Cara

******************************************************************

A figure, standing in the shadows, reliving the nightmare that is her reality. Someone who's past haunts them to no end. A woman, who fears to let people close to her, For when they do, they are in danger, and then she will have yet another death, or coma on her hands. She hopes people will not notice her; that they will not give her a passing glance. For this person is not capable of human contact, or rather skin-on-skin contact, and so she is robbed of a simple unprotected handshake, robbed of a simple hug of comfort, of a kiss from a loved one, of even such simple a thing as a victorious high five. Her name is Marie Darkholme, and she is alone, alone in a world that has her heart craving for a simple barehanded handshake. A world that is slowly ripping her apart.