Sheets covered the room, it was a shame they couldn’t take the furniture. But then again, you couldn’t take luxuries when fleeing for you life. She turned away from the sheets and wiped away her forming tears.
The sheets are scratchy. I feel them against my back. This is everything I wanted and the sheets are scratchy. I sigh and lean back, bracing myself. I want this. I want this. I want you. I love you. Why is this wrong? This is everything I wanted..
the sheet of ice came across the yard, covering everything, except the wilted hydrangeas that i trimmed in october. it was beautiful. the wilted grasses were now a carpet of shiny glass, the hydrangeas were like accents that made the grey leaves look sharper. “all right my ma,” i said to myself, there is what God has sent you.” and like a thunder my thoughts were so positive i smiled and then with a deep breath, in and out, my whole self was ready to rock and roll.
The white sheets, blue stripes, laying across the bed we lay in. Everything comes back to love. Every story leads you to make some greater understanding. We don’t like to admit it. These sheets are you. I still lay in them and think of you.
A sheet of ice slid past my bedroom window. Previously it had been hanging on the tree branches out side. What a strange and colorful illusion it was. The sun glistened through it perfectly for one second, casting a rainbow of color before my eyes. When it slide out of view I grabbed my sheets and held them tight against the cold of morning and thought about how lucky I was to catch that fleeting moment in time.
i wanna curl up in my sheets and take a nap.
sheets of paper?…i hape paper cuts. theyre so small but sting so much
sheets of paper are wasteful. every student should be issued an ipad. yeah. that would be sick.
The sheets were drawn around her neck, he had no idea what was going on, she stared at him with a black stare as he tilted his head to the side, on the bed it was pooling with blood. His face turned red as he stared. What could have happed and who could have done this?
I am a sheet. Not of paper, not of energy or strange delusions, but a sheet nonetheless. You may know me as Mr. Sparrow. You may not. You probably do not. I am not a bird. I am not a sheet. I am a sheet. And you are in my house, my sheety house. I am very disappointed in you. You should probably be burned alive, you know. For I am a sheet, and I have such powers. Your life – your whole life – is a lie manufactured by Pepsi Co.
She was unaware there was a sheet of ice on the road until her car was spinning three times. When the car stopped she was face to face with a black wolf standing in front of her car staring at her.
I picked up a clean sheet of paper, then I began to play. The sound it produced was raw and incoherent, but somewhere in it my soul was singing with the piano. Without the dillution of other voices than my own. And then I knew, that there was room in the world for my voice too.
the white was a little too bright for my eyes so early in the morning so I decided to pour the entire pot of coffee over the sheet just to tone it down a little. It wasn’t my most brilliant moment in life and the thing I regret most is the amount of coffee wasted for the sake of sanity.
The blanket was a rough sort of comfortable that Delia wouldn’t have been able to appreciate had her childhood not been full of camping trips and scratchy sheets as sleeping bags. Mom never had enough money to get them the warm kind, and they would huddle together every night.
Sheets covered the room, it was a shame they couldn’t take the furniture. But then again, you couldn’t take luxuries when fleeing for you life. She turned away from the sheets and wiped away her forming tears.
I turned over, waking from my sleep. Pulling the sheet up to my chin, I curled up inbetween my pillows and drifted back to dreamland.
The sheets are scratchy. I feel them against my back. This is everything I wanted and the sheets are scratchy. I sigh and lean back, bracing myself. I want this. I want this. I want you. I love you. Why is this wrong? This is everything I wanted..
the sheet of ice came across the yard, covering everything, except the wilted hydrangeas that i trimmed in october. it was beautiful. the wilted grasses were now a carpet of shiny glass, the hydrangeas were like accents that made the grey leaves look sharper. “all right my ma,” i said to myself, there is what God has sent you.” and like a thunder my thoughts were so positive i smiled and then with a deep breath, in and out, my whole self was ready to rock and roll.
i really need to wash my sheets. welcome to college.
The white sheets, blue stripes, laying across the bed we lay in. Everything comes back to love. Every story leads you to make some greater understanding. We don’t like to admit it. These sheets are you. I still lay in them and think of you.
A sheet of ice slid past my bedroom window. Previously it had been hanging on the tree branches out side. What a strange and colorful illusion it was. The sun glistened through it perfectly for one second, casting a rainbow of color before my eyes. When it slide out of view I grabbed my sheets and held them tight against the cold of morning and thought about how lucky I was to catch that fleeting moment in time.
i wanna curl up in my sheets and take a nap.
sheets of paper?…i hape paper cuts. theyre so small but sting so much
sheets of paper are wasteful. every student should be issued an ipad. yeah. that would be sick.
The sheets were drawn around her neck, he had no idea what was going on, she stared at him with a black stare as he tilted his head to the side, on the bed it was pooling with blood. His face turned red as he stared. What could have happed and who could have done this?
I am a sheet. Not of paper, not of energy or strange delusions, but a sheet nonetheless. You may know me as Mr. Sparrow. You may not. You probably do not. I am not a bird. I am not a sheet. I am a sheet. And you are in my house, my sheety house. I am very disappointed in you. You should probably be burned alive, you know. For I am a sheet, and I have such powers. Your life – your whole life – is a lie manufactured by Pepsi Co.
She was unaware there was a sheet of ice on the road until her car was spinning three times. When the car stopped she was face to face with a black wolf standing in front of her car staring at her.
I picked up a clean sheet of paper, then I began to play. The sound it produced was raw and incoherent, but somewhere in it my soul was singing with the piano. Without the dillution of other voices than my own. And then I knew, that there was room in the world for my voice too.
Warm and paper.
Summer hot night only thing between me and the world.
Paper, draw, art.
Shit with an accent.
the white was a little too bright for my eyes so early in the morning so I decided to pour the entire pot of coffee over the sheet just to tone it down a little. It wasn’t my most brilliant moment in life and the thing I regret most is the amount of coffee wasted for the sake of sanity.
The blanket was a rough sort of comfortable that Delia wouldn’t have been able to appreciate had her childhood not been full of camping trips and scratchy sheets as sleeping bags. Mom never had enough money to get them the warm kind, and they would huddle together every night.
The sheet lay over him like a second skin. She could imagine the lines of his body with just a glance of him while he lay sleeping.
stained clean warm cozy on top underneath let me stay in bed…please…cover me keep me warm…sheet
blank page. thoughts will fill it shortly with images of grandeur.