The pot boils over as pasta leaks out all over the floor and seeps into every corner of the room. We are all submerged and swimming in pasta through acres and acres as it fills the world and spreads through countries and continents. We no longer take cars or walk to our destination but center our lives around swimming through the oceans of pasta.
Its hot and steamy leading to burns and agony. The only thing its good for is everything. Pasta, eggs, water in the congo. So precious yet so hot and dangerous. You can’t live without it. Only dream on the clean water it brings. I hope when I get burned again the scar stays. My burns are power but I cannot get over the pain. To use heat and water in such a way can only be thought up by someone so simplistic yet genius and wonderful.
Crabs that burn alive in the boiling pot don’t have the vocal chords to call out. No emerging bubble will carry it’s dying screams, all we get are the little taps.
You push me until I reach my boiling point. Yet, this is no science experiment I assure you. I want to scream forever hoping the noise will somehow make you disappear from my sight. Don’t you see the steam rising from my head, or is that only in my dreams where I launch you off of a cliff? I’d like to say I’m sorry for the terrible things I think of you, but frankly I don’t care about your feelings very much. I guess that is what hatred is, ay?
My skin was boiling hot in the midday July sun as I watched the flames dance. It was my home and I guess I should have been more upset; crying or something like that. But I wasn’t. It was the most relieving feeling of my life knowing that I never had to go back. Never had to walk through that front door again. Never had to hear his voice say my name or one of the hundred other things he called me when he forgot I had a name. It was nice to be free.
Slip through the hands of those that seek to pull you through the cycles of boiling rage. Defy the reality of confining rules and expectations! Manifest truth in the grandeur of your imagination.
The boiling pot of water was cooking the noodles that we were soon to share in our new house. Paper lying everywhere, boxes unpacked thrown askew to the side so we could lay down a nice blanket to eat upon, the place was an absolute wreck.
However, I wouldn’t rather be anywhere but here with you, in our home.
the smells of boiling ramen filled the apartment, lifting David off his feet by his nose, carrying hin through the apartment to the kitchen. he saw adrian in the kitchen, cooking and singing under her breath while she cooked. his sister always made the best ramen, the kind that not only soothed the stomach, as well as your soul.
the water was boiling so hot that there was no time to think, only time to act. he had to devise a plan to get from one side of the room to the other without dropping the knife in his right hand and the onions and carrotts in his left hand. this dinner had to be perfect. it was his last chance with her.
Es kocht. Es kocht in mir und es kocht da oben. Da oben, wo ich nicht weiß, ob es oben ist. Oder ob ich nicht mit dem Kopf nach unten stehe. Kann man ja nie wissen, bei den kosmischen Drehrichtungen und -geschwindigkeiten. Da geht es rundum, um die Erdachse, um die Sonne, um das Zentrum der Galaxie, um die Wette … Genau wie in mir.
I hate it when he does this. I shouldn’t care, I should be understanding a great girl friend but when he talks to other girls like that, it has me boiling over. I didn’t want to be that psycho girlfriend. I just wanted to be the girlfriend.
it was boiling hot a summer day with nothing but sun. we considered going to the pool but that would mean movement. and it was just too damn hot to move, too damn hot to even think. that’s how freaking boiling hot it was.
bubbling bubbles buoyant till bursting, breathing almost . Hot air rich in airated 9 times filtered tap of the populus. You just have to figure out what to do with it.
her blood was boiling like water on the stove, like lava from the mouth of the volcano. fire roiling hot and molten, surging through her, carrying her anger in waves to her fingertips. she screamed, letting the anger course through her, out of her, her entire body a conduit for the rage.
It is so hot in this room right now! My skin is dripping off my red face. I wish I was a cold blooded reptile and there was a cold rock near by. Someone please submerge me in a tub of ice water before I self-combust.
hot, soup, chicken noodle soup, craft, my dogs are trying to hump eachother,i’m bored,four weddings, engadment, quit it toby, we did this is band, cell phone, love,questions, message, hot ,water , so how are you, anger, color gaurd, I’m bored again, so what’s up???? Ending of the world, duhhh duh duh duh, purple, favorite color, yellow is disgusting, least favorite color, global warming the deficiet, obama, black, african american, hawaii, I reallly want this to be over soon, facts, kara, messaging me , zumba is our new puppy, rawr, boo, Brandon, baltimore, love love love, uggghhhh, frustrated, grrrr, leedle leedle leele leedlelllllll
I was thinking about boiling some pasta. The sauce is pretty much already made. Just dumped in the pan some olive oil, a piece of garlic and some canned sauce and let it cook on low for an hour. Now I need to choose which pasta to use. Orecchiette?
The kettle whistles; the water is boiling. I pour it into the mug which already contains the teabag, the kind my mother liked. I hand it to my father, who barely notices.
“Drink it”, I tell him, trying to imagine his pain. But he doesn’t touch it, just stares.
Boiling is all about how to cook something right. Using hot water to steam and cook your food is effcient and fast as long as you don’t burn yourself! Sometimes boiling can be used to describe anger. Heat also can be what anger is.
wow, its such a nice day outside. I think I’ll go take a walk instead of sitting in front of this computer screen , man. I have no life. I rally hope this timer stops.
boiling means something is getting hotter than it was before. boiling is hot. boiling is ouch. boiling is what i hate. heat. that’s boiling. i hate boiling point. boiling means mad
I am roasting, boiling alive right now. How fitting a word to get as my tender white skin flames red and orange, as I give off rolls of heat and pitch. I think of clear waters marred by hot bubbles, of calm words overflowing with rage.
Phoenix and its boiling hot weather. It could cook a person from the inside out. I just want to be somewhere cool, where the ocean breeze is on my face, and the sun isnt as violent as it is in Phoenix. Phoenix is like a boiling lake of fire.
When it reaches the boiling point….BLAKOW! Break the tension and realize that we’re heading down a path of useless argument and wasted time. Back to reality and away from the crazy for a little longer.
Holy Christ it’s boiling in here!
But then no surprise
It is Hell, my dear
For after what you’ve done
And the way you moved on
It where you’ll stay
Forever
It’s an interesting thing, that I can’t boil water. I never learned how. And when someone was in the middle of boiling water, I guess I never paid attention. I guess I should start paying more attention to things before I don’t know how to do anything at all.
I like to boil eggs, because they turn out pretty cool. I’ve seen these thing called Eggies on TV, and they look pretty dope! SO, I want one. Except, the yolk is kinda grosssssss. :L
The rocks lay black in the fierce sun where the couple lay -slowly the hills turned to purple and then dark as they twisted form side to side unable to free themselves from the tethers of gras twined round their limbs
Hubba bubba as I boil and stem and seethe. Temper tantrum taking over cool temperament, Whistle and hum and bubble and stir some trouble up. My anger tees me off.
He tumbled into the vat with a grisly shriek that was unexpectedly high, considering his size. As his globby girth bobbed and sank in the boiling goo, he let out a cry of despair and flailed his hands in attempt to grasp anything, anything at all.
The pot was boiling on the stove, the children were screaming, the dog was barking to be let outside and Marian was telling me on my cell phone that she thought, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought my husband was cheating on me.
Part of me was wondering I would really rather enjoy being boiled alive. But then as the moment arrived and my skin fell off I realised I had made a terrible grammatical error. Spelling was never my strong point, and I doubted if anything could elucidate that point more clearly than this moment.
Eggs. Did you know that you can make hard-boiled scrambled eggs? I know, right? Like, they’re scrambled in the shell. Mind = blown. I’m gonna try that one day. Water. I should check to see if my dogs need more water. Probably not.
It is hot. Boiling. It is the steam that rises from the ground when you know that it is breaking one hundred degrees outside. The heat surrounds me as I walk through the streets of New York. Heat. One of the worst boiling Julys in history, and naturally I am one of the lucky ones that get to suffer through it. It doesn’t take much to wear me out in this weather. I literally have to stop every few blocks and get some AC before I pass out.
the pot is resting on the stove with about 3 cups of water inside. All it takes from me is the power to reach my hand out, turn on the stove and wait for the water to do what it does. boil. simple task yet so hard to come to terms with.
The pot boils over as pasta leaks out all over the floor and seeps into every corner of the room. We are all submerged and swimming in pasta through acres and acres as it fills the world and spreads through countries and continents. We no longer take cars or walk to our destination but center our lives around swimming through the oceans of pasta.
Its hot and steamy leading to burns and agony. The only thing its good for is everything. Pasta, eggs, water in the congo. So precious yet so hot and dangerous. You can’t live without it. Only dream on the clean water it brings. I hope when I get burned again the scar stays. My burns are power but I cannot get over the pain. To use heat and water in such a way can only be thought up by someone so simplistic yet genius and wonderful.
Crabs that burn alive in the boiling pot don’t have the vocal chords to call out. No emerging bubble will carry it’s dying screams, all we get are the little taps.
Hot, scorching. The feeling you get and then comes the pain. Ow. Ouch. Water. Then insert noodles. Spaghetti. Tortellini. Italian food. Yummy.
You push me until I reach my boiling point. Yet, this is no science experiment I assure you. I want to scream forever hoping the noise will somehow make you disappear from my sight. Don’t you see the steam rising from my head, or is that only in my dreams where I launch you off of a cliff? I’d like to say I’m sorry for the terrible things I think of you, but frankly I don’t care about your feelings very much. I guess that is what hatred is, ay?
My skin was boiling hot in the midday July sun as I watched the flames dance. It was my home and I guess I should have been more upset; crying or something like that. But I wasn’t. It was the most relieving feeling of my life knowing that I never had to go back. Never had to walk through that front door again. Never had to hear his voice say my name or one of the hundred other things he called me when he forgot I had a name. It was nice to be free.
Slip through the hands of those that seek to pull you through the cycles of boiling rage. Defy the reality of confining rules and expectations! Manifest truth in the grandeur of your imagination.
The boiling pot of water was cooking the noodles that we were soon to share in our new house. Paper lying everywhere, boxes unpacked thrown askew to the side so we could lay down a nice blanket to eat upon, the place was an absolute wreck.
However, I wouldn’t rather be anywhere but here with you, in our home.
the smells of boiling ramen filled the apartment, lifting David off his feet by his nose, carrying hin through the apartment to the kitchen. he saw adrian in the kitchen, cooking and singing under her breath while she cooked. his sister always made the best ramen, the kind that not only soothed the stomach, as well as your soul.
Even when she heats me almost to boiling, I never forget how much I love her and how little the little things are.
the water was boiling so hot that there was no time to think, only time to act. he had to devise a plan to get from one side of the room to the other without dropping the knife in his right hand and the onions and carrotts in his left hand. this dinner had to be perfect. it was his last chance with her.
Es kocht. Es kocht in mir und es kocht da oben. Da oben, wo ich nicht weiß, ob es oben ist. Oder ob ich nicht mit dem Kopf nach unten stehe. Kann man ja nie wissen, bei den kosmischen Drehrichtungen und -geschwindigkeiten. Da geht es rundum, um die Erdachse, um die Sonne, um das Zentrum der Galaxie, um die Wette … Genau wie in mir.
I hate it when he does this. I shouldn’t care, I should be understanding a great girl friend but when he talks to other girls like that, it has me boiling over. I didn’t want to be that psycho girlfriend. I just wanted to be the girlfriend.
I swear my skin is boiling,
your lips tight against it.
Your curls in my fist and my
toes buried beneath your thigh
steam my neck
with dirty words
and take me to
nirvana
it was boiling hot a summer day with nothing but sun. we considered going to the pool but that would mean movement. and it was just too damn hot to move, too damn hot to even think. that’s how freaking boiling hot it was.
the boiling point has surfaced. raging from depths’ bottom, up it forces, popping while it surfaces in a explosion with air.
bubbling bubbles buoyant till bursting, breathing almost . Hot air rich in airated 9 times filtered tap of the populus. You just have to figure out what to do with it.
her blood was boiling like water on the stove, like lava from the mouth of the volcano. fire roiling hot and molten, surging through her, carrying her anger in waves to her fingertips. she screamed, letting the anger course through her, out of her, her entire body a conduit for the rage.
It is so hot in this room right now! My skin is dripping off my red face. I wish I was a cold blooded reptile and there was a cold rock near by. Someone please submerge me in a tub of ice water before I self-combust.
hot, soup, chicken noodle soup, craft, my dogs are trying to hump eachother,i’m bored,four weddings, engadment, quit it toby, we did this is band, cell phone, love,questions, message, hot ,water , so how are you, anger, color gaurd, I’m bored again, so what’s up???? Ending of the world, duhhh duh duh duh, purple, favorite color, yellow is disgusting, least favorite color, global warming the deficiet, obama, black, african american, hawaii, I reallly want this to be over soon, facts, kara, messaging me , zumba is our new puppy, rawr, boo, Brandon, baltimore, love love love, uggghhhh, frustrated, grrrr, leedle leedle leele leedlelllllll
I was thinking about boiling some pasta. The sauce is pretty much already made. Just dumped in the pan some olive oil, a piece of garlic and some canned sauce and let it cook on low for an hour. Now I need to choose which pasta to use. Orecchiette?
The kettle whistles; the water is boiling. I pour it into the mug which already contains the teabag, the kind my mother liked. I hand it to my father, who barely notices.
“Drink it”, I tell him, trying to imagine his pain. But he doesn’t touch it, just stares.
Boiling is all about how to cook something right. Using hot water to steam and cook your food is effcient and fast as long as you don’t burn yourself! Sometimes boiling can be used to describe anger. Heat also can be what anger is.
wow, its such a nice day outside. I think I’ll go take a walk instead of sitting in front of this computer screen , man. I have no life. I rally hope this timer stops.
boiling means something is getting hotter than it was before. boiling is hot. boiling is ouch. boiling is what i hate. heat. that’s boiling. i hate boiling point. boiling means mad
I am roasting, boiling alive right now. How fitting a word to get as my tender white skin flames red and orange, as I give off rolls of heat and pitch. I think of clear waters marred by hot bubbles, of calm words overflowing with rage.
Phoenix and its boiling hot weather. It could cook a person from the inside out. I just want to be somewhere cool, where the ocean breeze is on my face, and the sun isnt as violent as it is in Phoenix. Phoenix is like a boiling lake of fire.
When it reaches the boiling point….BLAKOW! Break the tension and realize that we’re heading down a path of useless argument and wasted time. Back to reality and away from the crazy for a little longer.
Holy Christ it’s boiling in here!
But then no surprise
It is Hell, my dear
For after what you’ve done
And the way you moved on
It where you’ll stay
Forever
Honestly, I think this word is kind of revolting.
It’s boiling hot outside though; really, it is.
Last I checked it was one hundred and one degrees.
It’s an interesting thing, that I can’t boil water. I never learned how. And when someone was in the middle of boiling water, I guess I never paid attention. I guess I should start paying more attention to things before I don’t know how to do anything at all.
I like to boil eggs, because they turn out pretty cool. I’ve seen these thing called Eggies on TV, and they look pretty dope! SO, I want one. Except, the yolk is kinda grosssssss. :L
The rocks lay black in the fierce sun where the couple lay -slowly the hills turned to purple and then dark as they twisted form side to side unable to free themselves from the tethers of gras twined round their limbs
Hubba bubba as I boil and stem and seethe. Temper tantrum taking over cool temperament, Whistle and hum and bubble and stir some trouble up. My anger tees me off.
He tumbled into the vat with a grisly shriek that was unexpectedly high, considering his size. As his globby girth bobbed and sank in the boiling goo, he let out a cry of despair and flailed his hands in attempt to grasp anything, anything at all.
The pot was boiling on the stove, the children were screaming, the dog was barking to be let outside and Marian was telling me on my cell phone that she thought, she couldn’t be sure, but she thought my husband was cheating on me.
Part of me was wondering I would really rather enjoy being boiled alive. But then as the moment arrived and my skin fell off I realised I had made a terrible grammatical error. Spelling was never my strong point, and I doubted if anything could elucidate that point more clearly than this moment.
Eggs. Did you know that you can make hard-boiled scrambled eggs? I know, right? Like, they’re scrambled in the shell. Mind = blown. I’m gonna try that one day. Water. I should check to see if my dogs need more water. Probably not.
It is hot. Boiling. It is the steam that rises from the ground when you know that it is breaking one hundred degrees outside. The heat surrounds me as I walk through the streets of New York. Heat. One of the worst boiling Julys in history, and naturally I am one of the lucky ones that get to suffer through it. It doesn’t take much to wear me out in this weather. I literally have to stop every few blocks and get some AC before I pass out.
the pot is resting on the stove with about 3 cups of water inside. All it takes from me is the power to reach my hand out, turn on the stove and wait for the water to do what it does. boil. simple task yet so hard to come to terms with.