Together, it doesn't feel right at all

My skin is not my skin but something borrowed, and recycled. I feel like a stranger in my own skin, misplaced in my own body - a tangle of nerves and brittle bone. As my hair falls in tangled heaps on my pillow, they drift like makeshift snowflakes in the cold, dry air of my room. There is an ache in my chest, a feeling like no other, hands are gripping and gripping for something to feel. I will indulge in what is perceived as wrong until it feels right. I did not ask you to notice, I did not ask for saving. I am invisible in their eyes, only a shadow to play a game with - a game, a toy, inanimate. You will tire of me, and keep me under your bed, and when you remember me, I won’t be coming back.