Anna Torres
Bio
I’m a 36-year old wife and mother. I love reading, metal music, and writing. I have bipolar depression and have begun writing again since 2019
Stories (51/0)
Diabolical
There are no words to describe your villainy. Contaminated water leads to loss of bodily autonomy. The influence of treachery spreads where evil begets evil. Wickedness breeds more immorality. Sin has no apologies, only reasons. You were a catapult, ushering me headfirst into oblivion. You were simply diabolical. From under the skin comes a wave of kerosene. A hint of destiny lies bleeding at my feet. A devil in disguise. A horned figure without dragon breath. A cloaked specimen here to make a deal. I’m stuck in a limbo-like trance. I hope the earth opens its mouths and devours you entirely. The plague has come to take me away. A swift cleansing of the soul, a heretic rebirth of the senses. A disease of virtuous redemption. Come extract yourselves from persecution and myth. All else is endless cycles of death and comeuppance. I’ll meet you at the crossroads. I’ll make the choice to escape no matter the cost. It’s inconceivable to think we would ever last
By Anna Torres2 months ago in Poets
Turbulence
It’s been 26 years since I last boarded a plane. It’s been almost 3 decades of living firmly on solid ground. I was never a fan of oceanic views or mountainous terrain. I never looked up to the sky in awe or wondered about life on other planets. My dreams of being an astronaut never came to fruition since they never happened. I never liked flying then and I still don’t but in order to make it across the ocean in 13 hours, this is the only way.
By Anna Torres2 months ago in Fiction
She Is Not Here
She fights me. She punishes me. She knows this dependency has gone awry. She is not done with me yet. She has this curse that disembowels me. She is Mania when she is complacent and Depression when she drags me down to subterranean levels. She is the cliff I am pushed off of where I either fly or fall victim again to her devices. She claims victory when she is sated, when blessings have reached required amounts and her hunger quiets. She yells at me, “Ungrateful swine!” She is feral in her ferocious tone when waking up alive is not enough. She knows how my dreams are merely dreamt but never followed. She’s aware of the wishes that were made but never acted upon. She is the fear that allows me to succumb to my subpar mediocrity. She is the untapped potential like an oil rig that remains undiscovered. She claimed we were destined for greater things, not a life trapped in pretend acceptance. She professed that not everyone is meant for historical gain or perfection. She wouldn’t let me change the world. She merely allows me to survive the beast that slumbers inside. She slumbers still. She is the sanity I am not equipped for, an identity lacking any charm or reason. She brings me to shame, I carry this burden full of guilt and inferiority. She blocks me in, I have no say in this misery. She shields me from my own confidence. She makes me unworthy. She casts a shadow over me. She give me my faults but all I have is apathy. She shows no remorse. She is my fury and my sorrow. She gives me her pity. She is stuck in this body we both hate with a mindset from which we cannot escape. She is no cure for the weak and weary. She is no triumph for the sad and needy. She aims for my heart with no caution or mercy. She knows the joke is on her, I have none. She has no more fingers to point, no more excuses to make up. She is simply not enough. She cannot be the best version of herself. She is the shift that persuades the tides. She is the pendulum when her mood sways. She is the flip of a switch when we go from routine to utter chaos. She is me when we attempt to stand tall. She can’t see me for who we truly are, can she even see at all?
By Anna Torres2 months ago in Poets
Undine
I don't know if fish can get depressed but I've seen enough of them to believe they can. An aquarium is supposed to dazzle and delight and bring wonders from the unknown into our earthen realm. These fish and mammals are not arriving under the best circumstances though. With each newcomer, there is an energy that is being corrupted and corroded. This place isn't where they are supposed to be. My aquarium is the final resting place for most of them now. I hope divine intervention occurs or else these creatures will not survive whatever is coming...........
By Anna Torres7 months ago in Fiction
Vermillion
Part One We all have memories of a past long forgotten. They present themselves as convenient photographs or as jagged pieces of traumatic longing. I don’t miss the past; I only miss the simplicity of living with my best friend in a world where racism did not exist.
By Anna Torres7 months ago in Fiction
Stockholm Syndrome
I have always wondered how everyone close their eyes without a cure to dream. Without a tourniquet to the head. Do they take you into their arms? Do they wipe your memories? Do they offer amnesia? What do you do in this condition? This abduction is a nightmare. The missing time is mine. The seconds study me. They memorize my false pretenses. There is no relief in the mundane. Just shut your eyes and forget. I’ve been robbed of my clarity. Depriving myself of my own basic needs. Insomnia never stays. It hitches a ride to other vigils. A seizure offers reprieve. Sedatives are temporary. A comatose slumber. A getaway to drowsiness. I’m alert but not awake. Cautious, walking on eggshells. My idleness lingers. My procrastination has arrived. How can I convince you? That hypnosis has failed. How did we disappear in the night? The theories implant memories. Paralyzing trance. My sleep is dormant and lethargy is me. I’m in purgatory. I see you clear as day. Give me relief. Give me alleviation and consolation. Intoxicating depressants. Just relax now, it’s time now. A painkiller of dreams. An anesthetic of sleep. Give me release, give me reprieve. Let me go to sleep.
By Anna Torres8 months ago in Poets
The sword in the stone
I had to reinvent myself to escape the pain. Invisible but alive. I had to save myself, I had to escape. There’s evidence to the contrary. That we can shoulder the blame. But a wound is a wound. Whether bleeding or not, it’s all the same. There are always walls. In your head or in the way. You hear the words on repeat. You’re not worthy enough to be saved. Your birth was an accident. You would’ve chosen the easy path. But every road has curves. Invisible lines aren’t drawn on any maps. How do I justify the camouflage? How do I detect the concealed? The desperation, the misery. I can’t find it, it must not be real. My illness is the reason I stopped trying. The source of all my despair. I played it safe, I’ve played it weak. This affliction has made me emotionally impaired. Bitterness and irrational. My effort to appear sane. I hate myself for taking the path of least resistance. Excruciating blame. Inconsolable and defeated. I am planning my own imprisonment. Invisible and permanent. I will take all your pity until there’s nothing left.
By Anna Torres8 months ago in Poets
Xibalba
We emerge as sufferers from the neglected womb. A state of emergency will be declared soon. We discover new ways to main and torture. I have called upon you to join me and suffer. A crime of despair and audible hate. They rather destroy themselves than face their fates. There’s never any room for compassion and love. There are no answers, there’s none of the above. I press the trigger and let them die. It’s better than believing they’ll make it out alive. The silent journey doesn’t exist anymore. There is no gate but there is a door. Your heroes have all but abandoned you. There are only monsters here, they are right next to you. I can’t tell if my motives are correct. If we can’t have here and now, we have nothing left. A future deprived of all certainty. A shadow hovers over all of my past misdeeds. I feel no shame for what I’ve done. I feel no guilt over what I’ve become. A haven that became an inferno. This is how you lose your sanity, you escape down below. Don’t ask me to die for you. My lips plastered in a silent scream, regretting all of you. In this garden, there are no rules. Just eat the apples, you damn fool! A snake will spew venom directly into your ear. I am the only one that still cares for you out here. An absent father mean for fiction and lullabies. I am your redeemer, you owe me your lives. Give up your dreams and worthiness. There is only dismissal in this horrible mess. Lay down your weapons and follow me. It's going to take a millenia to undo what set you free. I seek a new utopia, reborn and retired. Come with me, we will be one with the fire. There are no cures here, only lies. If it isn't perfect, it isn't paradise
By Anna Torres8 months ago in Poets
Neanderthal
A conquest between apes and civilized man leads to this disaster of a conquered wasteland. The master planner I know never gives only takes. Behold Mother Nature’s greatest mistake! Evolution errors have resulted in corrupted schemes. From caveman to cosmonaut, I can’t wait for all of us to leave. Rustic tales of wise old mutations. I don’t mourn for the future, I have no lamentations. A winter of radioactive rain. I’ve wasted my summers trying to become insane. A brave new world lies at my feet. I took it from those dying in defeat. Will someone please press the big Red button? Not to detonate but to reset the rising sun. A primate made out of spineless admiration. How could we even concede of such an abomination? This planet held such potential. And we’ve gone down in ruins, despite of it all. A reality melted into the stratosphere. There’s no future for those still stranded out here. A failed reconstruction. After one too many attempts, we have created our own destruction. Hatred borne out of ignorance. Darwinism has become the path to bliss
By Anna Torres8 months ago in Poets
