Trying to push me to do something that gives me anxiety does not help my anxiety disorder. It only makes it worse.

That girl, she's not the same as you left her,
She's grown a full set of armor and
Her mascara is ******* water proof.

Conclusions were drawn, better now than ever.
Realizing the past was only a door that had been
shut, a little easier it was to accept. Only temptation
remain.
Not anything could lessen the desire of having
her name called back onto her or
the feel of strong hands trailing along her back.
She ached to feel the heat from his body
as it burned her skin, a sensation she could not live
without.
Her tongue felt lonely without a partner to dance with but
never had she been kissed..
His fingers being on every surface of her clothes less body
could send her into oblivion.

To loose her innocence was all she wanted.

Alas, the house is quiet.
A woman whom can not be particularly described as "dainty" but aged by a trying life has succumbed to sleep within her corner of the bricked home.
The home's walls made of plaster start their creaking, accompanied by a soft roar sounding from the a/c that can never stay fixed for more than a few months at a time.
Darkness overtakes each room one by one until the home is one big shadow of black in itself.
Shadows dance along four walls covered in an ugly neutral green that yearns to haunt memories as long as one shall live.
They grow and grow as the night lingers on, taking on various forms until they retire for the rest of the night.  
The cold sends its piercing scent of metal to and fro, taking up as much oxygen as possible.
But, alas.
A faint blue makes its appearance through a 5 by 3 window in the north wall, expanding until it illuminates my cold room, snatching the evil shadows along with it.