Comments Posted By Sophie
Displaying 31 To 60 Of 548 Comments
It was plausible that he could’ve done it.
Then again what was plausible?
What did it mean?
It rhymed with possible, so does that mean that he could’ve possibly done it.
The world may never know
» Posted By Sophie On 01.25.2014 @ 9:23 pm
Stitches and red but more like black I bite pencils when I’m nervous and you make me nervous so here, take this pencil I mean paper
» Posted By Sophie On 01.13.2014 @ 8:24 pm
I could not believe what I was staring at. it was a freezer, just a freezer like you would find in most houses of the Tri-State area, but the object in the freezer made my jaw drop. I stared, unblinking, still trying to process what was happening. A severed head sat before me.
» Posted By Sophie On 01.07.2014 @ 4:40 pm
it helps you. granny’s. it is comfy. it can be oldie. it is beautiful. a chair with arms. creativity burts. thank you. it relaxes you. it helps you to concentrate. an armchair. I have one too
» Posted By Sophie On 11.29.2013 @ 11:04 am
un. think. able. You are not able to think. a stressed state. If could couldn’t think, I could die. Thinking is everything for me, although my partner says I should think so much….I should live more in the moment. Not thinking is living in the moment(?). Present.
» Posted By Sophie On 11.27.2013 @ 2:16 pm
I dont know what to say about the word disciple so i will anagram it instead
pile i disc
i was never good at anagramming… if thats a word
» Posted By Sophie On 11.17.2013 @ 5:03 pm
it is a mean thought. But it can be a suicidal day, when you are sooo tired. it can be a suicidal lunch, what my mamma used to make. but overall, i dont like this word.
I keep reminding myself about my schizophren ex classmate…
» Posted By Sophie On 10.28.2013 @ 1:00 am
what a boring routine I have
I don’t even know
» Posted By sophie On 10.26.2013 @ 11:03 pm
I’ll always be hoping. Hoping that you’ll somehow love me again. I know if I were in your shoes I would forgive you. But we’re very different. Like the sun and the rain we have so little in common and I will always turn you to steam and you will always block me out. The more I shine the more you suffer and I am sorry for that. But I’ll always hope that somehow I’ll be able to break through your cloudy walls and make you sparkle, I suppose that will only happen from a distance.
» Posted By Sophie On 10.03.2013 @ 8:28 pm
peppers make me hot, make my mouth twist taut. I cringe and reel my tongue back until I’m choking on both capsation and the slipperiness of my tongue.
» Posted By sophie On 08.02.2013 @ 5:58 am
the hot is deceiving. it isnt from the flesh. it is from the seeds. the tiny seeds. the seeds you otherwise wouldnt have noticed. they are the hot.
my father made pineapple cerano tequila. the burn was pleasant, and not overwhelming.
» Posted By sophie On 08.02.2013 @ 12:47 am
I look ruefully at the small, crumpled up piece of paper on the floor and sigh. I guess I should have known that someone, especially someone like Marcy, would have the heart to destroy my greatest creation. I had worked for months on that poem. I had been so proud of it. I guess I should have known when Marcy asked to read it.
» Posted By Sophie On 07.24.2013 @ 3:55 pm
I haven’t got a colour I want to write today, apart from the yellow spilling from a smile.
» Posted By sophie On 07.20.2013 @ 9:14 am
Gamer. Sometimes perceived to be the person that sits on his couch all day pressing buttons with his fingers that causes a warrior to fight off an enemy on a screen in front of his emotionless face. Too me however, a gamer is everyone. We are all gamers and our life is our game. We control it… all of it. Our thoughts, our actions etc. We may be persuaded by the other characters in our game but in the end we hold the remote and we press the button.
» Posted By Sophie On 07.15.2013 @ 10:38 pm
people influence me. i influence them. it is a circle. a long one. manipulation. i like it. i really fancy it. it is hard. is it worth it? yes. my life. psychology. i am gonna be good at it…!
» Posted By Sophie On 07.11.2013 @ 2:38 pm
Wistful is reflecting on the past: nostalgia. It isn’t joy, it isn’t sorrow. In other words it is bittersweet. That moment of wistful remembrance is just as painful and beautiful as the moment you lived it.
» Posted By sophie On 07.07.2013 @ 12:07 pm
Me gusta coleccionar. Entre todas las cosas que colecciono se enuentran las cosas con la bandera de inglaterra. Tengo muchas cosas con esa bandera. Es re loco como la fisuración te puede llevar tan lejos. Tan lejos como para conseguir más de 15 cosas con lo mismo. Tan lejos como para idolatrar tal país.
» Posted By Sophie On 07.07.2013 @ 3:49 am
I felt like the sun was not able to accommodate me anymore, the apocalypse which happened in my stomach with the last glare from his eyes, bleeding into me an anger I had never thought could exist inside a human. Animals were placid but would not meet my eyes. I wish I could write.
» Posted By sophie On 06.26.2013 @ 6:31 am
my mother’s limbs are sundials and her hands are compasses pointing always towards the colour of springtime. I am not water, and I wonder how it and mirrors can be seen as colours, especially in fun-houses when all concept of time and personhood become mangled and distorted.
I do not like this word either because this illness is real to me.
» Posted By sophie On 06.24.2013 @ 1:24 pm
I cannot believe you when you tell me you have touched the sky, and that your pockets are lined with stars which you caught with a butterfly net. If you brought me the moon, I would probably laugh. Hysteria is overwhelming, and sometimes, so are your fantasies.
» Posted By sophie On 06.24.2013 @ 2:57 am
I am thinking about bad music, the electrim beats of an imagined drum and how we seek music to fill holes in our bodies which we imagine ourselves, these imagined sounds filling imagined places with imagined synthesis. I feel cathartic today with how much and how little I find myself in, and watching you drive your car south, in the opposite direction of this girl I am with snow skin and a penchant for tucking herself into mountains.
» Posted By sophie On 06.22.2013 @ 6:29 am
we play out like a trumpet, along the beach, muggy, with our hair sticking to our foreheads like tassels and press our ears to the conches, listening for answers but only hearing the blood in our own ears. I do not like to write as a ‘we’ anymore, but I do not believe in individualism. I am in a weird place.
» Posted By sophie On 06.19.2013 @ 12:27 pm
sometimes i wonder where a sense of belonging arises. i am the colour of your palms when i see you, it fills my cheeks how vibrant your movements are when you do not see me. i fade into a part of the tree bark.
» Posted By sophie On 06.18.2013 @ 2:13 am
i find myself laid out, piece by piece, as if you are my engineer and i am the pieces of a satellite. there is something pulling on my left arm, as if you have tied something to me, so i cannot float away. but the clouds pull farther and i split in half.
» Posted By sophie On 06.16.2013 @ 2:53 pm
i did not cut myself in half today, i fingered the scissors in the draw for a little while and imagined myself unfurling like a new kitten, or a yarn, or my organs unravelling like tiny sleeves of a whale’s childhood jumper. i am comfortable in your womb, a scarf which wraps around me.
» Posted By sophie On 06.15.2013 @ 3:35 pm
i lose myself in technology, fold myself up in the cogs of this intangible thing on my screen, it is odd how i cannot hold any of this, but i feel myself wrapped inside it, i feel like it is connected to me in this visceral way with each pixel buzzing in reaction, or in ‘sync’ with my body.
i do not like this word. writers romanticise a time before the internet, yet it is my best tool. i still write in a notebook.
» Posted By sophie On 06.14.2013 @ 12:17 pm
sunlight becomes a symbol of what I ignore, burning above me, but I look away because staring this in the face, the doctors warn, will make me blind.
» Posted By sophie On 06.13.2013 @ 11:27 am
breaking down over the night, I become a dandelion spore floating absent-mindedly in the air. my gravestone is the grass and it is time for the leaves to die. mash them under your boot. I cannot breathe anymore if I am not going to sit under the sycamore tree with you today.
» Posted By sophie On 06.12.2013 @ 2:12 am
i write about how the sun sails in through the window like a soaking paper boat, shaking as its bow becomes waterbloated and sick. i pull the curtains closed, they are yellow and the leaves on them scintillate with the turning of each corner like tiny hallucinations. this is a journey into sleep i take alone
» Posted By sophie On 06.10.2013 @ 3:22 pm
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Fools are teriffic. Unaware of their limitations, they achieve more in their reality than the talented sceptic does in everyone else’s. Fools are breathing, twirling magicians.
» Posted By Sophie On 06.10.2013 @ 5:23 am