One brick, another brick, a wall.
A big fat wall deviding my head. I can’t break free although a try madly.
I can’t find a way to the other side, but I need to go very badly. My life is waiting.
A brick is red, it can be used for many things. Mainly building buildings. However there comes a time in every bricks life when it is crushed to pieces….via demolition, or distraction or just abuse. The use of it to abuse – widely happening, yet ignored. Humble brick is crumbled.
Bricks are red. They are like love. They can build a house, or sink a dead body. Bricks can be heavy, and harmful. They help build the sidewalks and roads that you drive on. They are essential. Is my 60 seconds over yet?
Paramore. Brick by Boring Brick. Keep Your Feet on the Ground When Your Head’s in the Clouds. Can’t be tied down, can’t be held back. Bricks can’t weigh me down.
Bricks are red, they are sturdy, the contain things, they can keep a garden in its place, they can hold a building together, they can hold a house together, they can keep the family inside the house together they can protect things. bricks are important.
building, paramore, brick by boring brick, keep your feet on the ground when your head’s in the clouds, you be the anchor that keep my feet on the ground. I’ll be the wings that keep your head in the clouds. red,
you are just one. just one brick in the fucked up wall that keeps me from being happy. You and all my other problems. Making it impossible for me to climb over, to go around, to do anything but sit there and stare at you, willing you to move or fall… or at least move a few out so I can climb up.
once upon a time, there was a brick named bricky, he was the ugliest brick ever, but he still got all the girls. once upon a time there was a brick named brickina. she was the most beautiful brick ever. she feell in love with bricky and they lived happily ever after.
hello my name is niamh i like cheese and i am obsessed with loufoue who is played by sean;) i live in ireland which i like cause there is no natural disasters. ihave a cat and dog who are isiots
the brick was a part of the wall. it had been a part of the wall for as long as the wall or the brick or anyone in the village could remember. lovers had written initials all over it, as on all the other bricks in the wall. this one had special initials, from the town’s lone claim to fame – a serial killer years ago. a morbid brick. and yet it was this brick that meant something to the young people, who would touch it for luck, though it held such a terrible woman’s memory on its old, worn surface.
The brick fell 60 stories down and split the old man’s head like and overripe melon. A repulsive sight, I gagged heavily and acid rose in my throat. I still love watermelon though.
that day you spent all your hours outside (unbreakingly) building a brick wall. taller than it needed to be. blisters on your shoulders, we all thought you’d pass out from thirst, there was no stopping you. some subtle sway in the way you rocked your hips afterwards, confused on how to stand still, looking at this thing you had just done, and finally
out of materials, just like waking up from some regret (and all we could do
was watch you from the kitchen.)
My forehead began to get imprints from its cool, rough edges. Although, I have metaphorically hit this wall many times before, I have felt its impact physically on my body every time. Once the impact was made I only felt it fit to use it for support. Oddly enough, no matter how badly the wall hurts me, I still need its strength to hold me up. I squeezed the tears from my eyes, but they didn’t shed from the pain inflicted by the wall, but by my heart being ripped into shreds. How could love not be the one to hold me up when it hurt me so bad. I only have this one wall to rely upon. One soulless object that I have been shoved into, that has ripped my skin and forced my blood to drip. Yet, this wall does not give me pain. I wish it were this very brick wall that would stop my heart from its painful beat.
He had laid the brick of this house brick by brick—he worked so hard on it and now it was falling to the ground. It seemed so stable all the years I had lived in it before. Then the earth throws a temper tantrum and shakes up my entire world and throws my house to the ground. Some was still standing, but my great grandfather Is long gone.
heavy, opaque like what’s around the bend behind the waterfall and as we fall I can’t tell anymore which way is up, the room spinning ceiling stripped and the sky doesn’t look like sky but maybe that’s because I’ve never really seen it ’til now
a woman walks down the road. her flaming red hair is billowing behind her head like fire being blown on by a fierce gust. she passes by a red brick building, at least as old as her great grandmother.
een baksteen in mijn hart, volg mij tot ik bouwen kan, het simpele huis waar ik niet alleen woon, waar ik veilig zit, warm en droog, geborgen in jouw armen.
Rood en soms zwart Alles dankzij jou, de baksteen in mijn hart.
Bricks, as the ones in my heart before I met you, now that you’re here, you used them to build a house in there. Awesome, huh? How can something bad can turn into something so good…
Red clay and grey sands. What goes into the strength that a shaken earth may break?
A shaken earth devastates that which bends the glass and the walls while your hands stroke the floor. And you’ve never loved the stability of this carpet as much as you do right now.
I like bricks a lot. They are a good material to build houses and shelters. They are used with seament to keep them together. There are a lot of ugly houses on my street made out of bricks. They are usually red and brown.
Bobby trembled as he watched the man hitting his mom. Hands shaking violently, he picked up a brick from the alley floor and walked quietly up behind the man, raising it above his head, and bringing it down with all of his strength. The man dropped, and Bobby’s mother screamed.
wall the hard red hand packed mud fired in oven paved streets barefooted children run on, the connection from hands to feet, torn up replaced by black asphalt, no history, no time no story no barehanded man laying for barefooted feet to run.
like a brick in the small of your back
or a troop of angry man
during a terrorist attack
vigilantly violent
and viciously ferocious
sickening quiet
but dangerously growing
pain like your frozen
in 10 below weather
a scarf with no coat
and pants made of feathers
incomparable pain
probably the worst
your uninteresting uncle
who snorted too much coke
sickeningly stomach churning
grossly undeserved
of your kind heart
that got no regard
fuck the bullshit
she’s a retard
It is rough to the touch, eroded from decades of being buffeted by this city’s wicked winds. It stacks, yielding the building that held me for the entirety of my life. I trace my fingers along it as I leave for the first time.
In the past several months, food has become a source of great comfort to me. I can totally understand how anorexia and binge eating are diagnosed as mental health disorders. When you’re miserable and losing control in other ares of your life, your food intake is the one thing you can control. But this weekend, after overindulging, I woke up feeling like I had a brick in the bottom of my stomach. I think it’s time to do some things differently.
The house was built of red brick.
It was the kind that crumbled like an old slice of stale bread and fell to the ground while no one was watching. It was sneaky like that.
It was red, like an apple, aged and weathered, plunked from the tree to join the crumbs of ignored brick that lay in the dirt.
People walked by the house and never paid attention to it, just like the crumbs of brick and the fallen apple.
when i was a child, there was a strange brick house on the corner of my street. a brick house would seem most normal, but not when the house is made of blue bricks. as a child i had always thought that it blended in with the sky too much, and that a bird would fly into it. but the blue house would often change colors. blue was its favorite though
the person who lived there was just as odd a character. she was an artist, living off of her dead parents money. some days the house would have a mural on it…
It hit me like a brick in the face. My chest felt heavy, tears played at the edges of my eyes. It was true. A part of me always suspected so, but to actually know! My legs felt weak and I grasped for the closest thing to me which happened to be the wall. How could she do this to me? I had been so good to her! I loved her with my everything… I felt my eyes narrow, my jaw tighten, my hands clench into fists. Time for revenge
brick is an object that could be of different colors. Ir is used normally for construction. OMS time when i was a little girl a brick fell over my left foot it was really painful
A wall is always surrounding me, it keeps me from all of my desires. this wall is built up of single bricks which are my crushed hopes and dreams. A single brick put on top of another is what creates barriers to all things.
red bricks, different art about the bricks, different cities and countries use brick like Mexico, thats where all of my grandmothers houses’ bricks came from, there red and weather worn chipped away mostly from us kids trying to carve words or pictures into the outside of the house.
One brick, another brick, a wall.
A big fat wall deviding my head. I can’t break free although a try madly.
I can’t find a way to the other side, but I need to go very badly. My life is waiting.
A brick is red, it can be used for many things. Mainly building buildings. However there comes a time in every bricks life when it is crushed to pieces….via demolition, or distraction or just abuse. The use of it to abuse – widely happening, yet ignored. Humble brick is crumbled.
Bricks are red. They are like love. They can build a house, or sink a dead body. Bricks can be heavy, and harmful. They help build the sidewalks and roads that you drive on. They are essential. Is my 60 seconds over yet?
Paramore. Brick by Boring Brick. Keep Your Feet on the Ground When Your Head’s in the Clouds. Can’t be tied down, can’t be held back. Bricks can’t weigh me down.
Bricks are red, they are sturdy, the contain things, they can keep a garden in its place, they can hold a building together, they can hold a house together, they can keep the family inside the house together they can protect things. bricks are important.
building, paramore, brick by boring brick, keep your feet on the ground when your head’s in the clouds, you be the anchor that keep my feet on the ground. I’ll be the wings that keep your head in the clouds. red,
you are just one. just one brick in the fucked up wall that keeps me from being happy. You and all my other problems. Making it impossible for me to climb over, to go around, to do anything but sit there and stare at you, willing you to move or fall… or at least move a few out so I can climb up.
once upon a time, there was a brick named bricky, he was the ugliest brick ever, but he still got all the girls. once upon a time there was a brick named brickina. she was the most beautiful brick ever. she feell in love with bricky and they lived happily ever after.
hello my name is niamh i like cheese and i am obsessed with loufoue who is played by sean;) i live in ireland which i like cause there is no natural disasters. ihave a cat and dog who are isiots
the brick was a part of the wall. it had been a part of the wall for as long as the wall or the brick or anyone in the village could remember. lovers had written initials all over it, as on all the other bricks in the wall. this one had special initials, from the town’s lone claim to fame – a serial killer years ago. a morbid brick. and yet it was this brick that meant something to the young people, who would touch it for luck, though it held such a terrible woman’s memory on its old, worn surface.
The brick fell 60 stories down and split the old man’s head like and overripe melon. A repulsive sight, I gagged heavily and acid rose in my throat. I still love watermelon though.
that day you spent all your hours outside (unbreakingly) building a brick wall. taller than it needed to be. blisters on your shoulders, we all thought you’d pass out from thirst, there was no stopping you. some subtle sway in the way you rocked your hips afterwards, confused on how to stand still, looking at this thing you had just done, and finally
out of materials, just like waking up from some regret (and all we could do
was watch you from the kitchen.)
My forehead began to get imprints from its cool, rough edges. Although, I have metaphorically hit this wall many times before, I have felt its impact physically on my body every time. Once the impact was made I only felt it fit to use it for support. Oddly enough, no matter how badly the wall hurts me, I still need its strength to hold me up. I squeezed the tears from my eyes, but they didn’t shed from the pain inflicted by the wall, but by my heart being ripped into shreds. How could love not be the one to hold me up when it hurt me so bad. I only have this one wall to rely upon. One soulless object that I have been shoved into, that has ripped my skin and forced my blood to drip. Yet, this wall does not give me pain. I wish it were this very brick wall that would stop my heart from its painful beat.
He had laid the brick of this house brick by brick—he worked so hard on it and now it was falling to the ground. It seemed so stable all the years I had lived in it before. Then the earth throws a temper tantrum and shakes up my entire world and throws my house to the ground. Some was still standing, but my great grandfather Is long gone.
heavy, opaque like what’s around the bend behind the waterfall and as we fall I can’t tell anymore which way is up, the room spinning ceiling stripped and the sky doesn’t look like sky but maybe that’s because I’ve never really seen it ’til now
red.stone.brown.stone.connected.strong.fierce.together.home.shelter.warm.red.brown.stone.
brick.brick.brick.brick.
brick.
listern the brea
feel upto thy kla
sher, Imean if ug
Brick by brick we build our future.
a woman walks down the road. her flaming red hair is billowing behind her head like fire being blown on by a fierce gust. she passes by a red brick building, at least as old as her great grandmother.
een baksteen in mijn hart, volg mij tot ik bouwen kan, het simpele huis waar ik niet alleen woon, waar ik veilig zit, warm en droog, geborgen in jouw armen.
Rood en soms zwart Alles dankzij jou, de baksteen in mijn hart.
I like houses that are made of brick because they are sturdy and beautiful. Red brick is my favorite. I would love to build my house out of brick! :)
<3 bricks
Bricks, as the ones in my heart before I met you, now that you’re here, you used them to build a house in there. Awesome, huh? How can something bad can turn into something so good…
Red clay and grey sands. What goes into the strength that a shaken earth may break?
A shaken earth devastates that which bends the glass and the walls while your hands stroke the floor. And you’ve never loved the stability of this carpet as much as you do right now.
i love bricks. bricks are red and rectangular. they are hard and will kill you if thrown in a close distance! ouch1 charlie!
I like bricks a lot. They are a good material to build houses and shelters. They are used with seament to keep them together. There are a lot of ugly houses on my street made out of bricks. They are usually red and brown.
Bobby trembled as he watched the man hitting his mom. Hands shaking violently, he picked up a brick from the alley floor and walked quietly up behind the man, raising it above his head, and bringing it down with all of his strength. The man dropped, and Bobby’s mother screamed.
wall the hard red hand packed mud fired in oven paved streets barefooted children run on, the connection from hands to feet, torn up replaced by black asphalt, no history, no time no story no barehanded man laying for barefooted feet to run.
Red brown rectangular prism houses concrete heavy hard solid holy breakable cement usable cheap song brick wall
Brick by brick and stone by stone.
I know not where the river goes.
The way is hard
and the path untamed.
But I will get there one day.
One day.
Bricks build houses, whether they be made from stone or from plastic, like Lego bricks.
like a brick in the small of your back
or a troop of angry man
during a terrorist attack
vigilantly violent
and viciously ferocious
sickening quiet
but dangerously growing
pain like your frozen
in 10 below weather
a scarf with no coat
and pants made of feathers
incomparable pain
probably the worst
your uninteresting uncle
who snorted too much coke
sickeningly stomach churning
grossly undeserved
of your kind heart
that got no regard
fuck the bullshit
she’s a retard
© LL
It is rough to the touch, eroded from decades of being buffeted by this city’s wicked winds. It stacks, yielding the building that held me for the entirety of my life. I trace my fingers along it as I leave for the first time.
In the past several months, food has become a source of great comfort to me. I can totally understand how anorexia and binge eating are diagnosed as mental health disorders. When you’re miserable and losing control in other ares of your life, your food intake is the one thing you can control. But this weekend, after overindulging, I woke up feeling like I had a brick in the bottom of my stomach. I think it’s time to do some things differently.
The house was built of red brick.
It was the kind that crumbled like an old slice of stale bread and fell to the ground while no one was watching. It was sneaky like that.
It was red, like an apple, aged and weathered, plunked from the tree to join the crumbs of ignored brick that lay in the dirt.
People walked by the house and never paid attention to it, just like the crumbs of brick and the fallen apple.
when i was a child, there was a strange brick house on the corner of my street. a brick house would seem most normal, but not when the house is made of blue bricks. as a child i had always thought that it blended in with the sky too much, and that a bird would fly into it. but the blue house would often change colors. blue was its favorite though
the person who lived there was just as odd a character. she was an artist, living off of her dead parents money. some days the house would have a mural on it…
brick
brick brick
my house is made of bricks
brick brick brick
brick
b i r c k
It hit me like a brick in the face. My chest felt heavy, tears played at the edges of my eyes. It was true. A part of me always suspected so, but to actually know! My legs felt weak and I grasped for the closest thing to me which happened to be the wall. How could she do this to me? I had been so good to her! I loved her with my everything… I felt my eyes narrow, my jaw tighten, my hands clench into fists. Time for revenge
brick is an object that could be of different colors. Ir is used normally for construction. OMS time when i was a little girl a brick fell over my left foot it was really painful
A wall is always surrounding me, it keeps me from all of my desires. this wall is built up of single bricks which are my crushed hopes and dreams. A single brick put on top of another is what creates barriers to all things.
red bricks, different art about the bricks, different cities and countries use brick like Mexico, thats where all of my grandmothers houses’ bricks came from, there red and weather worn chipped away mostly from us kids trying to carve words or pictures into the outside of the house.