Darkened grime has not spread across my body
Soot-covered fingerprints have not traced the lines in my skin
Poisonous words have not crawled into my veins
My brain has yet to be compromised by this chemical cocktail

Untouched
Is my soul’s home
She is reserved with brick walls and number codes
She sends a warning with guard dogs tall and strong
But behind the closed iron doors
Is her white room

Scared to spill
But wanting to throw paint after taking off plastic covers
Wanting to ruin
But not wanting the hurt
Wanting the touch
But not the pain
And yet
A masterpiece could be waiting

Untouched
Yes, I am untouched
Museum-grade red ropes
Look, don’t come close
And, at this rate,
I don’t know when I’ll be ready
To let go