Metal bars. They crossed the wall at the far end of the cell. They made me nervous. I tried to stay away from them, them and the brutish guards who had dragged me in here, but in a cell there’s only so far you can go.
bars could mean music. like a music bar in a staff. i think there are 5. i could also mean bars on a jungle gym sort of thing. like monkey bars. i’m not so good at them. i actually suck. or a bar like with alcohol. i think my sister drinks..i’m not sure
bars. bars. bars. what to say? i don’t really know. i’ve never really been to one besides with my parents. they usually smell, of smoke and musk. and i went to this one bar in East Stroudsburg (where my dad used to go to school) and there were peanuts all over the floor! no body cleaned the peanuts. and i was young, so i was like. why did no one clean the peanuts?! it was quite weird.
Hands clutch them so tight and he can’t breathe. He can’t. It hurts so bad. His eyes clench and his jaw grits and he moans all the pain he feels inside of him at that point.
But the pain doesn’t stop. His fingers clutch the bars tighter and he shuts his eyes tight. He can’t block it out. He can’t hide from it. He can’t do anything to stop it.
His eyes drift towards the skyline through the bars and for that one second he’s free.
What actually bars us from getting ahead of others ? what bars us from attaing our just goals in life ? It’s all a mind thing. We must rise above our self imposed bars.
the bars of the window held her in place. She could see the sea, and hear the birds outside the window. She wanted to taste the salt on her lips, feel the wind in her hair. She dreamed of floating outside in the water. To look up at the sky, endless.
Bars. Bars, bars bars, such a potent word. They can mean so many things; imprisonment, and pleasure. In a bar, you can drink whatever you want. You can do whatever you want. You can fuck any floozy or dick you want.
But in prison, when you’re behind those bars instead of in front of them, you can’t do anything. You can fuck anyone you want, but more likely than not, they’ll hate it. You can’t drink what you wish. Alcoholics can’t get their drinks.
Bars have always been anathema to me. I just don’t fit in there. I don’t know how to sit, how to act. Do I look at people, do I gaze over their heads? If no one talks to me how do I leave gracefully? I’m too shy to talk to anyone on my own. SO I stay out of there.
When I think of Bars, I think of encarceration. As in, “You’re behind Bars.” You’re not getting out of there with a file, buddy.. best be serving your time. THE END!
My dad sat behind the bars during the most important time in my life, i saw him through the screen once a week, but only for a short while. He then came home, and seemed like the bars were only stronger when he kept up with the addiction.
with the lock on the chain
and the chain on the window
and the window coated with bars
it’s a wonder I can see the sunrise.
staring through a tiny opening,
framed in steel.
There are these places called bars. We see the hookers, the stars, and the drunks. They’re not pleasant places, nor are they sanitary, but they are definitely places to have fun. We can’t assume that they are all drunks, for they have their own stories that are hidden behind their eyes.
There is a certain uniformity about the corner bars all around the world, she wrote. There is a calming familiarity about it, like the same pair of lumpy beds with prints of country scenes hanging over them in motels. The same bar glasses being polished by the same quiet man, the same dark lights and smoky air. Its purpose, she supposed, was to make its customers feel at home.
Smelly, thick with sweat and danger. I wonder how sad she had to be to go to them all of the time and who she would meet, and if it would work out between them. Dooesn’t that hurt? Why does she do it again?
i was walking one day and was put in jail for nothing i did in particular but i was furious for what had been done to me. so once i was release i took a wrench and went on a police rampage only to be shot and replaced in jail. the day will come when seamen and police will live in harmony, but that day is not today
contain you against your will. bring you a social contrsuct of which you can consume alcohol and attempt to talk to someone who may or may not want to sleep with you.
metaphorical iron bars allowing me to go no further. look if you will and see whats on the other side, but know you cannot have it. reach your arms through and graze with cold fingertips what you desire. but nothing more. no relieveing grasp will be given to you.
all i can think of are the lives that are lost from the bars being set on the found glory that was once called upon as a new world but soon became a boring usual life that no one would like to explain to thier own soul.
at the end of the world i saw how the bars found there way in to my heart as they found the life as it exceded in my love for the everlasting non quinticential love for the goods that i call bars. one bar after another that follows me eating away at my soul like a large death just a bar.
The bars on the cage held tight. He shook them with both hands as hard as his muscles would allow, but they refused to judge.
“You’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouted to the guard outside. The guard just glanced at him, scowling, before turning his back to him once more.
Growling in frustration, the prisoner turned and kicked the brick wall behind him.
he nervously began his inquiry. “W-would y-you want to, uh, t-to go out this w-weekend?” The girl stared at the anxiety in his eyes. It was all she could do not to laugh at his sincerity, his nerves. She batted her eyelashes coquettishly and slyly answered, “And what, exactly, would we do together?”
The light fell against the garage doors irregularly, with dancing shadows in the forms of leafless branches. The bars on my prison were nothing more than a shadow, always seen, and sometimes felt, but never, ever touched.
bars are nice. bars of gold are better. i have no idea what the point of this is. this is the first time ive done this.. ever. im not sure what im supposed to do aside from writing aimlessly.. minutes almost up i think.. its red now… i think its over.. bye
That night I found the girl i loved. the next night i saw the girl i would merry. following that it was the girl i wanted to bare my children. each at a different bar. each a different story.
Bars. Uneven bars Drinking bars. Barhops, barstools. Bars of gold. Bars of chocolate. The BAR examine. Being barred-banned, disputed, revoked. Being stopped, halted, made to stand in ones own tracks and just cease, and desist. Bars.
cold, hard, silver vertical bars used to keep in prisoners…
damp, bars in basements with dimmed lights for people to congregate in…
chocolate barsm rich and delishous…
bars of gold, milky way bars, bars keeping inmates contained, bars keeping me contained, bars of sand getting boats stranded, bars in a song, bars are no good if you want to go home alone, bars are wher fights happen,
I wish I could drink at bar. However, I am only nineteen; I’ve got myself less than two years. What would I do a such a bar, though? Who could I possibly become? Would I meet the love of my life at a bar, like so many of my friend’s parents have? Would I discover myself? Would I?
Metal bars. They crossed the wall at the far end of the cell. They made me nervous. I tried to stay away from them, them and the brutish guards who had dragged me in here, but in a cell there’s only so far you can go.
bars could mean music. like a music bar in a staff. i think there are 5. i could also mean bars on a jungle gym sort of thing. like monkey bars. i’m not so good at them. i actually suck. or a bar like with alcohol. i think my sister drinks..i’m not sure
women love to go out to the bar and drink with single men, if they are single themselves.
Smoke gets in my eyes.
People
Crowded
Cough
Atmosphere issues.
I met him in a bar, is that what you want to tell your children?
bars. bars. bars. what to say? i don’t really know. i’ve never really been to one besides with my parents. they usually smell, of smoke and musk. and i went to this one bar in East Stroudsburg (where my dad used to go to school) and there were peanuts all over the floor! no body cleaned the peanuts. and i was young, so i was like. why did no one clean the peanuts?! it was quite weird.
Hands clutch them so tight and he can’t breathe. He can’t. It hurts so bad. His eyes clench and his jaw grits and he moans all the pain he feels inside of him at that point.
But the pain doesn’t stop. His fingers clutch the bars tighter and he shuts his eyes tight. He can’t block it out. He can’t hide from it. He can’t do anything to stop it.
His eyes drift towards the skyline through the bars and for that one second he’s free.
What actually bars us from getting ahead of others ? what bars us from attaing our just goals in life ? It’s all a mind thing. We must rise above our self imposed bars.
the bars of the window held her in place. She could see the sea, and hear the birds outside the window. She wanted to taste the salt on her lips, feel the wind in her hair. She dreamed of floating outside in the water. To look up at the sky, endless.
Bars. Bars, bars bars, such a potent word. They can mean so many things; imprisonment, and pleasure. In a bar, you can drink whatever you want. You can do whatever you want. You can fuck any floozy or dick you want.
But in prison, when you’re behind those bars instead of in front of them, you can’t do anything. You can fuck anyone you want, but more likely than not, they’ll hate it. You can’t drink what you wish. Alcoholics can’t get their drinks.
Imprisonment and pleasure.
Bars.
Bars have always been anathema to me. I just don’t fit in there. I don’t know how to sit, how to act. Do I look at people, do I gaze over their heads? If no one talks to me how do I leave gracefully? I’m too shy to talk to anyone on my own. SO I stay out of there.
When I think of Bars, I think of encarceration. As in, “You’re behind Bars.” You’re not getting out of there with a file, buddy.. best be serving your time. THE END!
My dad sat behind the bars during the most important time in my life, i saw him through the screen once a week, but only for a short while. He then came home, and seemed like the bars were only stronger when he kept up with the addiction.
with the lock on the chain
and the chain on the window
and the window coated with bars
it’s a wonder I can see the sunrise.
staring through a tiny opening,
framed in steel.
There are these places called bars. We see the hookers, the stars, and the drunks. They’re not pleasant places, nor are they sanitary, but they are definitely places to have fun. We can’t assume that they are all drunks, for they have their own stories that are hidden behind their eyes.
The fruit bar that mom use to make were my favorite, especially warm from the oven and all gooey.
drugs, sick. time. health. i feel like it is a way to get out of pain. escape. leave it all behind. alone. death. warning. hospital. hurry. stop. now.
girl’s who want friends.
men who want pussy.
they are not one in the same.
why do we assume,
that they have like brains?
There is a certain uniformity about the corner bars all around the world, she wrote. There is a calming familiarity about it, like the same pair of lumpy beds with prints of country scenes hanging over them in motels. The same bar glasses being polished by the same quiet man, the same dark lights and smoky air. Its purpose, she supposed, was to make its customers feel at home.
Smelly, thick with sweat and danger. I wonder how sad she had to be to go to them all of the time and who she would meet, and if it would work out between them. Dooesn’t that hurt? Why does she do it again?
i was walking one day and was put in jail for nothing i did in particular but i was furious for what had been done to me. so once i was release i took a wrench and went on a police rampage only to be shot and replaced in jail. the day will come when seamen and police will live in harmony, but that day is not today
place to drink
type of graph
hold things up
contain you against your will. bring you a social contrsuct of which you can consume alcohol and attempt to talk to someone who may or may not want to sleep with you.
party drinking dancing sluts pimps stupid bitchs drama haters lover fightes
metaphorical iron bars allowing me to go no further. look if you will and see whats on the other side, but know you cannot have it. reach your arms through and graze with cold fingertips what you desire. but nothing more. no relieveing grasp will be given to you.
all i can think of are the lives that are lost from the bars being set on the found glory that was once called upon as a new world but soon became a boring usual life that no one would like to explain to thier own soul.
at the end of the world i saw how the bars found there way in to my heart as they found the life as it exceded in my love for the everlasting non quinticential love for the goods that i call bars. one bar after another that follows me eating away at my soul like a large death just a bar.
Setting the bars high for yourself pushes you to achieve above average things…Why not set the bar higher and higher in thinking of humanity?
The bars on the cage held tight. He shook them with both hands as hard as his muscles would allow, but they refused to judge.
“You’ve got the wrong guy!” he shouted to the guard outside. The guard just glanced at him, scowling, before turning his back to him once more.
Growling in frustration, the prisoner turned and kicked the brick wall behind him.
he nervously began his inquiry. “W-would y-you want to, uh, t-to go out this w-weekend?” The girl stared at the anxiety in his eyes. It was all she could do not to laugh at his sincerity, his nerves. She batted her eyelashes coquettishly and slyly answered, “And what, exactly, would we do together?”
The light fell against the garage doors irregularly, with dancing shadows in the forms of leafless branches. The bars on my prison were nothing more than a shadow, always seen, and sometimes felt, but never, ever touched.
bars are nice. bars of gold are better. i have no idea what the point of this is. this is the first time ive done this.. ever. im not sure what im supposed to do aside from writing aimlessly.. minutes almost up i think.. its red now… i think its over.. bye
all through the world they are warm,
That night I found the girl i loved. the next night i saw the girl i would merry. following that it was the girl i wanted to bare my children. each at a different bar. each a different story.
Bars. Uneven bars Drinking bars. Barhops, barstools. Bars of gold. Bars of chocolate. The BAR examine. Being barred-banned, disputed, revoked. Being stopped, halted, made to stand in ones own tracks and just cease, and desist. Bars.
i think of drinks at a bar like beer!
cold, hard, silver vertical bars used to keep in prisoners…
damp, bars in basements with dimmed lights for people to congregate in…
chocolate barsm rich and delishous…
Behind these iron bars
I’m trapped
Isolated
I scream
Let me out
Please
I suffer
I can only watch
I can only pray
I can only cry
I may never be whole again
bars of gold, milky way bars, bars keeping inmates contained, bars keeping me contained, bars of sand getting boats stranded, bars in a song, bars are no good if you want to go home alone, bars are wher fights happen,
bars – the sticky sweat of sticky people sticking to your skin; the smell, oh boy the smell. i shiver and sway and everything disappears in the bar.
I wish I could drink at bar. However, I am only nineteen; I’ve got myself less than two years. What would I do a such a bar, though? Who could I possibly become? Would I meet the love of my life at a bar, like so many of my friend’s parents have? Would I discover myself? Would I?
monkey bars like childhood
swinging back and forth
and sharing candy bars
afterwards
with nothing to stop you
no bars to hold you back
you are free
and that is childhood,
pure and simple
like a bar or a measure or a musical note
you get to carry on
free and unaware