Have you ever made a promise

that you know

will never come true?

But for some reason,

you hold on to that promise

because of the hope

that it will actually come to fruition?

What a time to be alive

Why is letting go so difficult?

I honestly don't want to let you go.

You've been this amazing person

who has been a constant in my life.

...

but,

if I'm being honest,

it's felt one-sided for a long time...

And if anyone else treated me like this,

you'd probably tell me to stop reaching out

because they don't care at all.

...

But it's hard,

because I still care.

And to even think you don't care anymore

breaks my fucking heart.

I want to hear about your day

and talk about our dreams.

Make plans for the future

and talk about how we would be sensational together

like we used to.

I miss that feeling so much,

that someone cared for me

and wanted to be in my life.

But now, the silence is overwhelming

and I'm tired of trying to hold on to something

that clearly doesn't want or need me any longer.

Perhaps,

you were what I needed at the time

and it's time to release my grasp on you.

But...

I think part of me

will always hope

you will reach out to me

and see how I'm doing...

For now,

I'll continue to count the months

that pass

without a single word.

6.

My love language,

is physical touch.

I am always wanting

to hold people's hands

or wrap them up

in a warm embrace.

In my opinion,

this is such a beautiful way to express love.

I think the worst part

of having this love language,

is having to ask for people to love me in this way.

"Can you hold my hand?"

"Could I have a hug?"

"Please, could you put your arm around me?"

Because, then,

I'm too clingy...

and the beauty I once found in this kind of love

transforms to something ugly.

Sometimes,

I allow my anger to come out in my writing.

And a lot of time,

my anger is directed toward people in my life.

I talk about what they have done,

how they treat me,

their shortcomings...

Truthfully, sometimes I am downright petty.

I use this username to hide my identity from those people

for two reasons,

One, I don't want to lose my head in a sense

that I want to stay grounded and release

the tension within me.

and

Two, I don't want to lose my head

from people finding out

what I actually think.

Annie B. Lynn.

Anne Boleyn.

I was running down an unfamiliar corridor. Lights were flickering above me, adding to the suspense of the chase. I kept looking behind me to see if I was still being followed, but by what? I couldn't recall, all I had was the sinking feeling that I was not going to make it out alive. As I raced down the hall, I became aware that I was racing for my life down the basement wing of a hospital. Blood was sprayed across the wall. I tried every door I could, but all were locked. At the end of the hall were swinging double doors with circle windows on each. I pushed them open to find I was standing in the morgue. Not knowing what to do, I found a hiding spot near a desk and awaited my pursuer.

As I sat there, trying to catch my breath, I heard a voice emerge from the room. It was a voice that sounded weak and a little drugged.

It called out, "Please, help me. He's coming. Please."

I was paralyzed with fear at the "he" the voice was referring to. I tilted my head to see where the voice was coming from and immediately regretted it. What I saw was a man strapped down to a sterile metal table, looking like his mind was in a haze. I quietly snuck over to the table. I looked at him for a moment, unable to recognize his face, but had the feeling that he was important to me. I was crying as I grasped at the chains that strapped him down, clawing at the lock trying my best to release him from this hell.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps began to echo down the long hallway outside. Time was running out and I couldn't find a key to open the locks. I rushed around the room but I could not find the key anywhere. The footsteps were getting closer and closer, and I didn't have time to make it back to my old hiding spot. I hid under the table closest to the strapped-down man and held my breath.

The door slammed open and a heavy, evil laugh filled the room. Heavy boots stomped across the room, making their way toward the slab.

"Too bad I couldn't find your friend, she's going to miss all the fun! Don't think I've forgotten about you too. I only gave you enough drugs to put you in a bit of a daze, you'll be awake the entire time."

Soft whimpers came from the young man.

"Don't cry, it will be over soon!" laughed the man, making it apparent that it was going to be anything but.

A surgical tray was rolled over and clanged with metal tools. From my hiding spot, I could see a meaty hand pick up a sharp scalpel. The next part was terrible, the sound of slicing and tearing of skin permeated my ears. Grunts and moans from the young man, who could feel and see everything, were horrific to hear. Other instruments were picked up, including what looked like giant garden clippers to snap his ribs in two. I could hear him rip the skin apart with his hands, somehow getting satisfaction from the whole experience.

The room suddenly became quiet, too quiet. I could no longer hear the sounds of the awful sins that were being committed. I wiped the tears from my face, only then to be greeted by a creepy face. The figure had dark eyes that looked like they were swirling around. He had a twisted mouth that housed sharp, pointed teeth.

With a hiss, he said, "There you are, it's your turn now!" and stuck me in the neck with a needle.

The worry is back.

The doubt has returned.

And clouds have lost their silver lining.

Everything is just hopeless.

Hopeless because the world has gone to shit,

Hopeless because it feels like

no matter how hard I try

nothing is ever going to work out.

It's like climbing up the ladder of success,

but with each rung you climb,

fifty more are added to the top.

Making the prize even more unattainable.

How did we get here?

Where you have to spend millions of dollars

to pay for so much school to finally get a job

that will pay you a livable wage.

Where there is absolutely no way where you can live on your own

even when working two or three jobs at a time.

Where there is always going to be something wrong with you

when it comes to dating

so you have to spend a fortune "fixing yourself" in therapy.

It's just too much all the time.

It's just too overwhelming all the time.

And it feels like I'm suffocating all the time

under all the debris of the world

we created.

I don't want to be

the person who is always

wearing their heart on their sleeve.

The person who falls

too quickly

and loves too hard it hurts.

I don't want to be the

the person who always

cries when they talk about their feelings.

At this point in my life,

I would rather be cold,

unfeeling,

unattached.

So tough that nothing gets under my skin

and nothing can penetrate the walls around my repairing heart.

I have this incredible anger

bubbling up in my chest,

stirring around my stomach,

making me feel like every step I take

is fueled by this anger.

I want to kick down doors,

I want to punch in walls,

I want to rip

and tear

and destroy everything around me.

I hate the way you treated me

I despised the way you led me on

I abhor you.

FUCK YOU.

I am so frustrated

that I never allow myself

a moment of peace.

When things are going so right,

I always have to mess it up

and get so anxious and worried

about false narratives

I weave for myself.

And for some ungodly reason,

I believe it every time.

I believe that people hate me,

when I have done nothing

to change the opinions of those around me.

I believe that I am not capable

of literally doing anything

when I have proven to myself

time and time again

that I can do whatever I set my mind to.

I believe that I am unworthy of love

even though I know that there are people out there

who love and respect me.

But for some reason,

I keep believing the lies

and I never get this moment of just being

content with myself.

That's all I want,

to be content with myself.

I so scared

that all this effort,

all this kind talk,

wanting to see me,

wanting to take care of me,

wanting to be with me,

will all disappear in the blink of an eye.

Because it has happened before.

I saw a person who said that they loved me

slowly drift away from me.

And all I was left with

was wondering how I could have been better,

how I could have been different.

And after digging myself out of that literal hell-hole,

I never want to find myself back down there again.