i sat on the corner staring up at the old schoolhouse; dry, brittle brickwork like bone stuck out on each corner when i used to spend my childhood reading and watching the other kids play football.
I build everything piece by piece. I hold up a brick, stand on my tippy toes, and stretch. I fall. The bricks come crashing down on my head, and blood begins to slide down my cheek, like tears.
i keep you locked up
in the perilous prison of my heart
i know its not fair
but you can’t leave
i don’t know what i would do
without you
but if you let me
into your heart
maybe we’d be even
Bricks are beautiful and build and represent more than we think they do. we can try to make many dreams come true by building with such an object. My school is made with them so i will always sort of hate them. Bricks are fun and the basic thing you learn to stack with when you are around 5. Bricks are hard and are a simple and complex object think about it.
bricks are special
they created my old house i used to live in
the little brick house on allen walker road
i miss it
but i love how we moved
out of that town
Stepping stones I use to build the path to my destiny. With every brick laid I gain strength, I take time to prepare a strong enough bridge to link me from my present to my future. If I rush it the bridge will collapse because the foundation wouldn’t be strong enough. Every new challenge is just another brick.
Stepping stones I use to build the path to my destiny. With every brick laid I gain strength, I take time to prepare a strong enough bridge to link me from my present to my future. If I rush it the bridge will collapse because the foundation wouldn’t be strong enough. Every knew challenge is just another brick.
Bricks are red and all that. I think bricks could hurt somebody if you threw one at ’em. Yow. Bricks can be like all red or brown
Or you could paint them!
Omfg!! c:
Coooool :D
Bricks.
alkcma SOooooo many bricks like I wanna know more about bricks like what is the material you use to actually MAKE bricks but Oh my god do you think it smells? Like, does it stink? I would think a brick would probably stink.
the bricks on the side of the old building were simply crawling with vines, giving it a run-down look. Only those who knew the town knew of the gorgeous mansion on the inside and the friendly people who lived there.
They are red, hard and solid. I don’t know why they are here. Sure they look cool on houses – but really… You don’t see those much any more. They remind me of something old, something that once belpinged but is now dwendling out of exsitance because no one has any use for them any more. This is just weird. I don’t know how I feel about them, but they are there and that isn’t going to change. Writing this is so weird… Much like bricks :D Everything does have a purpose though, the purpose of bricks is unknown to me, maybe they are just there for the looks, for the comfort that people feel when they live in them, surronded by them.
There’s an expression: “It hit me like a ton of bricks” and I now see why such a phrase exists. The crushing realization of something really can be painful. I guess now I know.
When I stack these bricks one upon the other, reddish dust powders my veined hands. The sun burns on my back and I kind of want to give up but I also know I can’t. My hair is dead, I guess I’m dead too. Brick 1, brick 2, brick 3, brick 98, I want to give up but I also know I can’t.
Eric suggested that I just write the word, “Bricks,” over and over again until the 60 seconds timed out. I don’t think that is the point of this, nor productive. Also, it is stupid. When I got the word, what it made me think of is turn of the century houses — sometimes they are painted white, sometimes red, sometimes in-between.
brick by brick the house was built. Who knew that bricks good stand for so much and so little. They sighed as they looked upon what it was now, just another pile of rubble. The war had brought tragedy to many.
I believe that bricks are more than just tangible objects. They are a representation of foundation. Foundation is the people in your life, whether it be friends or family and these people can be compared to bricks because there are several, but some aren’t as bright or strong as the others.
A message carries weight. The words, the intent, the meaning of the message has its own gravity. In this case, the weight was literal. The message lay among the shards of broken glass, scrawled on the side of a red brick: GET OUT!
I built a house,
Then tore it down,
Watched the bricks,
Fall to the ground,
I laughed and I cried,
Never once went inside,
And pretended my brick house was you
We slathered more grout on the bricks, building up the walls, slowly but surely. It was almost 5 feet high by the end of the day. We promised the school we would finish it in a week, and we would. This was our contribution to the world: a building for education. They deserved it.
The bricks that built the city were made in south america, in the horsetooth valley to be specific. they call it horse tooth because its filled with shrubs that horses go nuts for, but the shrubs are difficult to eat due to their strength, so every now and again the horses tooth will be pulled out by the bush. Well these bushes eventually drop the teeth and they fall into the soil. Soil isnt the best word, its more like concrete when its dry and clay when its wet. Anyway this valley has been traveled on horse back for centuries and it is quite safe, so camp is usually set up in horsetooth valley. you can see where im going with this cant you? when camp is set up the horses are tie right next to a roe of shrubbery bursting with ripe leaves and berries. the horse go nuts. by the time the troop has gone through the valley the horses need dentures. Well anyway my dad is from the horse tooth area and his father was a construction worker, and his job most of the time was to lay bricks. Well he taught my dad when my dad was of age to work, but when the war broke out he left his family and friends in the horsetooth area to go to america. He still keeps in contact with them and one of his good friends, Carlo, owns the land which encompasses the valley. Thats where he gets his bricks
you seem to disregard the bricks
i’ve tried to place between you and i.
this wall has been in the making for a bit
but you just climbed over it
so that my lipstick could stain your skin.
as you say,
you’ll make me yours by the end of the year…
don’t be too sweet dear,
i’m better for a skipped heartbeat
and a night of reckless abandon
even though we have an audience
and you’re trying to anticipate
something that never ceases to amaze you.
don’t think about how i taste
or else you’ll miss me when i wander.
with a hundred goodnight kisses
as well as more than a few to say good morning,
i’m glad that you didn’t try to give one for our goodbye.
the exterior of the building is made of bricks, which is a great surface for kids to graffiti in the middle of the night, and that’s why there is a gang symbol outside of my bedroom window. he thinks it’s funny, but this isn’t like the place where i grew up, so he just tells me to “get over it, sweetie” and that’s when i decide it’s time for a nap because i am done with thinking.
These make-believe bricks have slowly started to accumulate. They stretch over my head now. The ‘hole’ that I’ve accidentally dug for myself has gotten… out of hand, you could say. Now, how am I to dispose of them all?
one by one the bricks making up the walls of my heart are pulled away.
one by one you watch as I pull them from their once-firmly mortared places
and peek into the holes they leave
fully expecting to witness again the horrors they once sheltered me from
There was the tallest brick wall I’d ever walked into. I crashed, I’ shure it appeared from nowhere. But the stones were red and hard and gosh my head hurt.
I made a wall around me, made of bricks. in the metaphorical sense, of course. i have had enough of this “being open” with everyone. once you tell them your deepest secrets, they can’t be taken back. i unfortunately, learned that the hard way. i dont have many friends, most of them are fake people. but the friends i have…had… i thought i could trust. again, learned that the hard way. so, now, i keep my secrets locked, tight, in a jeweled box. i have one friend, who hasnt betrayed me. we can tell each other everything. but after what i’ve been through, i dont tell her as much anymore.
you’re probably wondering what could’ve possibly happened for me to have to live in secret, and that my friend, is incased in a bunch of bricks.
Bricks so red and worn down.
Faces seen in every crowd.
Bricks so rough and wise.
Every day is no surprise.
I could not fathom any thick
of how it feels to be a brick.
This brick wall is standing in front of me. The only way to get past it, is to keep fighting. I have to remember why I am fighting. I can’t go back. I have to keep fighting these bricks.
shit a brick. what a humorous statement. bricks are red and hard, and scratchy. They can be hard to work with but hold up well over time. little maintenance on a brick house. bricks saved a pig
I woke up to a crumbling building. everything around me had already apart and all that was left was for me to do the same. Bricks had scattered the ground. and beneath all that rubble i could see my mother laying still.
Each one was laid carefully, lovingly, with care and with the expertise of a craftsman. Not just a worker; this was someone who loved his work, who took patience over cranking out inferior goo
I lay each one with care, spreading the mortar between them to keep them together. As my steady hands placed one on top of the other, I began to smile, proud of my handiwork. But when I left them out overnight, a storm began to brew, and I came back in the morning to see that the big bad wolf had blown my house down; mortar, bricks and all.
i sat on the corner staring up at the old schoolhouse; dry, brittle brickwork like bone stuck out on each corner when i used to spend my childhood reading and watching the other kids play football.
I build everything piece by piece. I hold up a brick, stand on my tippy toes, and stretch. I fall. The bricks come crashing down on my head, and blood begins to slide down my cheek, like tears.
i keep you locked up
in the perilous prison of my heart
i know its not fair
but you can’t leave
i don’t know what i would do
without you
but if you let me
into your heart
maybe we’d be even
Bricks are beautiful and build and represent more than we think they do. we can try to make many dreams come true by building with such an object. My school is made with them so i will always sort of hate them. Bricks are fun and the basic thing you learn to stack with when you are around 5. Bricks are hard and are a simple and complex object think about it.
bricks are special
they created my old house i used to live in
the little brick house on allen walker road
i miss it
but i love how we moved
out of that town
Stepping stones I use to build the path to my destiny. With every brick laid I gain strength, I take time to prepare a strong enough bridge to link me from my present to my future. If I rush it the bridge will collapse because the foundation wouldn’t be strong enough. Every new challenge is just another brick.
Stepping stones I use to build the path to my destiny. With every brick laid I gain strength, I take time to prepare a strong enough bridge to link me from my present to my future. If I rush it the bridge will collapse because the foundation wouldn’t be strong enough. Every knew challenge is just another brick.
The bricks may have been the ones holding the house up, but it was the family that tore the home down.
Bricks are red and all that. I think bricks could hurt somebody if you threw one at ’em. Yow. Bricks can be like all red or brown
Or you could paint them!
Omfg!! c:
Coooool :D
Bricks.
alkcma SOooooo many bricks like I wanna know more about bricks like what is the material you use to actually MAKE bricks but Oh my god do you think it smells? Like, does it stink? I would think a brick would probably stink.
the bricks on the side of the old building were simply crawling with vines, giving it a run-down look. Only those who knew the town knew of the gorgeous mansion on the inside and the friendly people who lived there.
They are red, hard and solid. I don’t know why they are here. Sure they look cool on houses – but really… You don’t see those much any more. They remind me of something old, something that once belpinged but is now dwendling out of exsitance because no one has any use for them any more. This is just weird. I don’t know how I feel about them, but they are there and that isn’t going to change. Writing this is so weird… Much like bricks :D Everything does have a purpose though, the purpose of bricks is unknown to me, maybe they are just there for the looks, for the comfort that people feel when they live in them, surronded by them.
Bricks make up a building. They make it whole. Emotions are bricks. They makes us whole. Emotions are the bricks of humanity.
There’s an expression: “It hit me like a ton of bricks” and I now see why such a phrase exists. The crushing realization of something really can be painful. I guess now I know.
When I stack these bricks one upon the other, reddish dust powders my veined hands. The sun burns on my back and I kind of want to give up but I also know I can’t. My hair is dead, I guess I’m dead too. Brick 1, brick 2, brick 3, brick 98, I want to give up but I also know I can’t.
Eric suggested that I just write the word, “Bricks,” over and over again until the 60 seconds timed out. I don’t think that is the point of this, nor productive. Also, it is stupid. When I got the word, what it made me think of is turn of the century houses — sometimes they are painted white, sometimes red, sometimes in-between.
brick by brick the house was built. Who knew that bricks good stand for so much and so little. They sighed as they looked upon what it was now, just another pile of rubble. The war had brought tragedy to many.
I believe that bricks are more than just tangible objects. They are a representation of foundation. Foundation is the people in your life, whether it be friends or family and these people can be compared to bricks because there are several, but some aren’t as bright or strong as the others.
A message carries weight. The words, the intent, the meaning of the message has its own gravity. In this case, the weight was literal. The message lay among the shards of broken glass, scrawled on the side of a red brick: GET OUT!
I built a house,
Then tore it down,
Watched the bricks,
Fall to the ground,
I laughed and I cried,
Never once went inside,
And pretended my brick house was you
mortar and bricks
for you to rest your head against
when the people you’ve called friends
have become solid and hard.
They try to chip away at the wall between us
Futiley tugging at the bricks
I won’t tear it down, though
I know they don’t actually care
However
It’s nice to pretend sometimes
We slathered more grout on the bricks, building up the walls, slowly but surely. It was almost 5 feet high by the end of the day. We promised the school we would finish it in a week, and we would. This was our contribution to the world: a building for education. They deserved it.
The bricks that built the city were made in south america, in the horsetooth valley to be specific. they call it horse tooth because its filled with shrubs that horses go nuts for, but the shrubs are difficult to eat due to their strength, so every now and again the horses tooth will be pulled out by the bush. Well these bushes eventually drop the teeth and they fall into the soil. Soil isnt the best word, its more like concrete when its dry and clay when its wet. Anyway this valley has been traveled on horse back for centuries and it is quite safe, so camp is usually set up in horsetooth valley. you can see where im going with this cant you? when camp is set up the horses are tie right next to a roe of shrubbery bursting with ripe leaves and berries. the horse go nuts. by the time the troop has gone through the valley the horses need dentures. Well anyway my dad is from the horse tooth area and his father was a construction worker, and his job most of the time was to lay bricks. Well he taught my dad when my dad was of age to work, but when the war broke out he left his family and friends in the horsetooth area to go to america. He still keeps in contact with them and one of his good friends, Carlo, owns the land which encompasses the valley. Thats where he gets his bricks
you seem to disregard the bricks
i’ve tried to place between you and i.
this wall has been in the making for a bit
but you just climbed over it
so that my lipstick could stain your skin.
as you say,
you’ll make me yours by the end of the year…
don’t be too sweet dear,
i’m better for a skipped heartbeat
and a night of reckless abandon
even though we have an audience
and you’re trying to anticipate
something that never ceases to amaze you.
don’t think about how i taste
or else you’ll miss me when i wander.
with a hundred goodnight kisses
as well as more than a few to say good morning,
i’m glad that you didn’t try to give one for our goodbye.
the exterior of the building is made of bricks, which is a great surface for kids to graffiti in the middle of the night, and that’s why there is a gang symbol outside of my bedroom window. he thinks it’s funny, but this isn’t like the place where i grew up, so he just tells me to “get over it, sweetie” and that’s when i decide it’s time for a nap because i am done with thinking.
These make-believe bricks have slowly started to accumulate. They stretch over my head now. The ‘hole’ that I’ve accidentally dug for myself has gotten… out of hand, you could say. Now, how am I to dispose of them all?
one by one the bricks making up the walls of my heart are pulled away.
one by one you watch as I pull them from their once-firmly mortared places
and peek into the holes they leave
fully expecting to witness again the horrors they once sheltered me from
Are brown and red. Katowice is full of bricks made houses. You can throw a brick at someone.
.
There was the tallest brick wall I’d ever walked into. I crashed, I’ shure it appeared from nowhere. But the stones were red and hard and gosh my head hurt.
Bricks, red, brown, white, grey, carefully placed, sealed, planned, decorative, functional, protective, sturdy, firm, proud, nearly timeless, elegant, weatherpoof, dependable, annoying to wolves.
Bricks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. Or is it sticks.
I made a wall around me, made of bricks. in the metaphorical sense, of course. i have had enough of this “being open” with everyone. once you tell them your deepest secrets, they can’t be taken back. i unfortunately, learned that the hard way. i dont have many friends, most of them are fake people. but the friends i have…had… i thought i could trust. again, learned that the hard way. so, now, i keep my secrets locked, tight, in a jeweled box. i have one friend, who hasnt betrayed me. we can tell each other everything. but after what i’ve been through, i dont tell her as much anymore.
you’re probably wondering what could’ve possibly happened for me to have to live in secret, and that my friend, is incased in a bunch of bricks.
Man being a bricklayer was a bad career choice
Yeah, I hear ya. But when you got a baby on the way you just gotta do whats available.
Heard that. I’m only doing this to support my cocaine addiction.
Bricks so red and worn down.
Faces seen in every crowd.
Bricks so rough and wise.
Every day is no surprise.
I could not fathom any thick
of how it feels to be a brick.
This brick wall is standing in front of me. The only way to get past it, is to keep fighting. I have to remember why I am fighting. I can’t go back. I have to keep fighting these bricks.
shit a brick. what a humorous statement. bricks are red and hard, and scratchy. They can be hard to work with but hold up well over time. little maintenance on a brick house. bricks saved a pig
I woke up to a crumbling building. everything around me had already apart and all that was left was for me to do the same. Bricks had scattered the ground. and beneath all that rubble i could see my mother laying still.
Each one was laid carefully, lovingly, with care and with the expertise of a craftsman. Not just a worker; this was someone who loved his work, who took patience over cranking out inferior goo
Oh gosh this is so bad. I’m done.
I lay each one with care, spreading the mortar between them to keep them together. As my steady hands placed one on top of the other, I began to smile, proud of my handiwork. But when I left them out overnight, a storm began to brew, and I came back in the morning to see that the big bad wolf had blown my house down; mortar, bricks and all.