wish that you could be my friend that stays here never ever leaves my side and will stick with me through all the tough times that break us you’ll be there for me, i for you if only i could ever find someone who would give a little love i’d return it tenfold forever you can break me and i’ll stay with you forever.

It’s hard to live. Hard to love, to breathe. Hard to feel anything at all. So hard to be happy or joyful. It’s hard to not give up, to try. It’s so, so hard to truly believe in yourself. To be kind, though your teachers made it sound easy. It is almost impossible to love yourself and love your reflection. Mostly, it’s hard to stand up, when you’ve barely hit the ground.

But if you don’t stand up in that moment, you’ll just keep falling. Stand up, stay strong, breathe, forgive yourself, even if you think you can’t, try. Although it’s hard, although you think you’ll break, you can’t give in no matter what.

Don’t give up, you’re worth more than you think.

In somber days he trusts Sometime in the month of August An unbearable weight fell upon his shoulders

He discovered that the days would get colder As well as the fact that he got older.

The world was too big to notice him at all Suppose he could merely sit around and wait for the fall

But sometime in the month of August he would get a call.

In an uncomfortable world he searched and sought for some type of comfort,

In a world that was quite unsearchable he searched for something to search for.

It was in the month of September when the unbearable weight became so much more,

In this month, the heavy feeling inside of his chest became a bit harder to ignore,

And so he was forced to think about just who or what exactly he was waiting for.

Blackbird. Blackbird sings. Up in the tippy top of her tree. In the dead of night when all is quiet. Waiting, watching, searching, feeling, seeing. Blackbird.

Hearts broken Hearts always outspoken Hearts never truly awoken Hearts are nearly always plainspoken Hearts are rarely never left unbroken Hearts aren’t murdered or killed their broken

My first prompt Is hard to do. One word greater than before? What if I mess it up? What if it doesn’t make any sense? Or what if I end it at eight? Is eight words enough to say what I mean?

It’s dark. Not too dark. But not light either. In a way, it’s comforting. The darkness fills me from inside. It makes me feel like a person. Like the girl I was before... all this.

I just want to see him one last time. Before no one ever gets to see him ever again. But for now, I’m stranded in the middle of the blackness. And there’s no way to know if I will ever get out.

It’s okay though, I know that I am only getting what I deserve. I put him through a hell of a lot more than I ever will.

Midnight Endless chimes Then silence again Still no sleep comes But thick darkness smothers me The power cut prevents me reading I should have kept candles in case Eyes open or closed gave no less darkness Then suddenly a whisper, or was it wind outside? It came again, more clearly now, but it wasn’t English “Omnes interficere” from the mouth of a desperate but elderly man Twice more it called and never again then deep sleep engulfed me I awoke quite late, almost nine, washed, dressed and presented myself for breakfast Other guests had eaten and gone apart from one man still seated but still A strange man dressed in clothes from Shakesperian times and still wearing his tricorn hat Then he rose, seemingly without moving his chair and, passing my table, he looked at me When the landlady came for my breakfast order I asked about the strangely dressed guest I’d met She straightened suddenly as if a great shock had become upon her and her face turned ghostly white “That’s the ghost of Robert Catesby, he stayed here the night before the gunpowder plot” she almost whispered conspiritorily “He’d met here with French Catholic men sent by the Pope to support his cause” “Will you be wanting eggs?” I relayed by breakfast requirements and requested a daily newspaper which she brought from another table and returned to the kitchen I spread the newspaper out on the table, the best to gather the headlines, and I was taken aback by it “WESTMINSTER TERROR ATTACK: DRIVER ARRESTED AFTER MAN MOWS DOWN CYCLISTS AND PLOUGHS INTO PARLIAMENT BARRIER” shot back at me from the Telegraph