I am cursed with a skin; I am the one to feel, the one to bleed.

There are days that I wish I instead become a hollow shell, a shelter for life that happens to seek me.
No nerves, no soul-just the rough dentures of nature. Trauma may scar but I would not feel it.
Some nights I wonder if this is all but karma I'm under.
Was I too greedy for emotion that I was given this soul bound with the mortal soil?
I long to be an actual shell, buried in the sand, somewhere in the ocean.
So that I would not have a place for sorrow about how I became so hollow.
I do not despise my skin, instead, I loathe the pain within and each feeling nerve that I have forsaken.
I am cursed with a skin; They make me want to cut myself, but it's not them that bleeds.