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(We're are back being Renesmee.) Renesmee POV The water pushed and pulled the tide getting faster I couldn't grasp what was going on why I couldn't wake up. I knew this was a dream.
You were there for me from day one, Even when you lost your son, You never left my side when I was in hospital, It was the first time I had seen you emotional.
My fire went out, The day that you left, And losing your soul, Left us bereft. Pen to paper once was, The easiest thing, But then when you passed, I gave up writing.
#myfallenangel. Part 3. I know last time we spoke. I finally said goodbye. And all it took to get me here. Was that I had to die. Inside a box imprisoned. No way to move ahead.
Hello again, and today is Sunday, January 27, 2012.
An old man walked long, Followed a road his son walked, before him. A lonely, desolate road, lined with dead trees, old oak, hawthorn.
I sat on the sand, my knees pulled to my chest, and watched the waves crawl forward and back with ease. The rain was coming down lightly, making a rippled effect upon the surface.
The patch of dirt on grassy lawn speaks louder then the stone that lies above the slushy mud where grass is neatly grown. The only thing that I can smell is metal, sterile, clean.
I don't know what it is But to bad news I seem to not react anymore Am not heartless I know this But it seems that I closed some kind of door Or maybe I made peace that life is full of it Ups and...
Rom was dead and buried. Gone. He had been for almost a year, but it wasn't getting any easier, living without him.
It's not a night for laughter. It's not a night for fun. It's not a night to sing and dance. Or play and skip and run. It's not a night to dry the tears. Pouring from my eyes.
Bob's dead, I'm not sure what to do; He's my sons gold fish, Should I flush him down the loo.
25/01/13 I stared at the corpse allowing an empty feeling crawl inside of me. I was emotionless. My grandmother, the only family I had left, had just died and not a single tear was produced after.
#nightdwellers Gravestone poetry, Monolithic scribing made In the witching hours, privately On your own, Sitting with your back, To a gravestone.
Tiny hands, Cling to my thumb, Discovering me like new lands, Leaving my body far from numb.
Seeing everyone cry hurts. It hurts when you're not crying when you think you should. It hurts seeing everyone so hurt. I don't cry not because I'm not sad but because I need to stay strong.
You never know how absolutely horrifying things are until the truth hits you. I was reading a story today in a detention about a young girl in a car crash.
As the elevator rose upward, the wind blew with adequate force. The young boy and his father within stood quietly, listening to the annoying musick that played on the intercom.
This is the poem I wrote myself to read out at my Grandad's funeral tomorrow. (Some things are personal, so might not make sense) A man of selfless acts, time and again.
It's a silent killer, A violent killer, It crushes you like glass. It makes you hopeless, Makes you gutless, Something I wish I could pass.
It was like the stars knew you. The way they twinkled that night. Like they were so deeply in love. That they showed you their beautiful light. And your blue eyes shone. They're light and never lie.
I wrote this for my 12 yr old niece whose hamster died last night, she had him for three years she's heartbroken :( You'll be missed my furry little friend You've left a broken heart to mend Your...
Rest I call. To you my fallen angel. You were there from the very start. I thank you. With these words. You watched me when I went down. On my knees and when I cried.
I lay there. Still, As the first flake of snow fell onto the window. That's how I've remembered you for two years when I last saw you. You were my everything. I just regret seeing you on that day...