The gloved hand clamped around Norine’s throat like a vice.
“Tell me where it is,” Norine’s captor growled. The voice was low and feminine.
Norine’s face flushed as more and more oxygen left her. She was too restricted to even wheeze. Finally, her captor removed her wrench hand from Norine’s trachea. Norine gasped and saw nothing but shrinking black holes for a moment.
Shut up! He said. Quick, get down.
I held my breath, lightening my grip on the window cutters, waiting for the security guard to pass by. This seemed like a hell of a lot of security just for one diamond. In Africa of all places. Couldn’t they just go in to their mine and get another one? It wasn’t even beautiful or big, it just existed – a shiny lump of coal.
But he treasured it beyond words, and it was his by right, and I had promised to get it back. Even death wouldn’t stop that.
His fingers clamped onto her wrist, but with a writhe and a twist, she broke free and slammed the heel of her hand into his nose, hard. She heard a crunch and smiled. A textbook defense, perfectly executed.
For years my life seemed to be a trap. It always seemed as though i was stuck in spot, unable to see any horizon beyond my window ledge. my house had me clamped in spot. and I don’t know how i’m going to undo the bolts.
These funny chubby legs won’t cycle me to your house. I’m clamped down, sweaty palms on the handlebars, but they just wont get going. I feel wild, frantic, because I know this park is no place to loiter. There are faces in every darkness. I feel eyes, chasing the curve of my hips, my curling hair on my neck.
The gator clamped down on the man’s arm before he even had time to react. There was no way to get himself away from the monster’s jaws and began to think back on his life. The ups and downs and all the mistakes he’d made up to that point. It could be considered that messing with this beast was one of those mistakes.
existential crises the same that remains the cause
of anxiety exited me
the laugh the love the lost
how we caused the cost
and everything seemed to slip away
in the night the day and fell astray
it clamp clamped on to me
The clamp slowed the bleeding, but it was already too late. She looked up at me, already deep in blood-loss shock and her tears streaked the camouflage on her face. ‘Don’t forget me.’ She said.
Alice sold the land, on condition that the house be torn down. Watching it be destroyed was like having a clamp removed from her heart. That part of her life was over now.
it shut down and fixates on your gaze. it’s not going to sever this arm, not today, but it’s going to cling tighter than you can imagine. it’s metallic bite forces you over that edge, past what you thought you wanted. i kicked it beyond my horizon and it comes back. this recurring force.
Afraid to lose her feelings, she clamped down the entrance to her heart. Her eyes grew darker, her eyebrows turned down like shutters at night, and she set her mouth small and firm. But she didn’t know: she couldn’t capture feelings like she could photos, like the photos she kept on the walls in her room whose covers she would dust every Monday. You keep the feelings inside your heart but the purest of angels, locked up, begin to mutate, and claw away from the inside. She had difficulty breathing, after a while, and she opened her mouth wider, but nothing came out, her throat was dry. The clamp went deeper. She didn’t know how to reach inside her own heart to loosen it.
She clamps her teeth together, hard, trying to prevent the hysterical sounds from leaving her. All of her shrill words pile up in her mouth like bones, dusty and hollow. She wonders, indistinctly, how things came to be this way.
“Shit. Its stuck,” Emily said from the living room.
“What is?” i asked, turning the corner.
She looked up at me from her place on the couch and gestured to the little clamp keeping her chip bag closed.
I chuckled, “Of course that’s what your upset about.”
I took the bag from her and sat with her on the couch, trying to unstick the clamp.
“Hey whats that supposed to mean?” she poked my side and rested her head in my lap, giggling.
She clamped her hand over my mouth, muffling my words and transforming them into something far removed from the hate-filled slurs I’d meant them to be.
“Will you shut up a minute and let me explain?” she hissed, her whispered-words clipped and frosty to the ear.
“IdonthavemuchofachoicenowdoI?”
She cocked her head to the side. “What?”
I reached up and pulled her hand away from my lips. “I said: ‘I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?'”
The clamp wasn’t strong enough to stay put. It kept falling off; there was nothing I could do about it. We needed to find a stronger light so we could continue on with the scene. We were far from finished and needed to get moving. The clamp problem sure wasn’t helping us at all.
Oh, this is easy. Nipple clamp. That’s what comes to mind. I’m not a pervert or anything. It’s just that’s what I think of when I see the word clamp. Or something related to automobiles. Isn’t a clamp something that pinches two things together? An alligator clamp. A roach clip.
Clamp down on the surging emotion, the piercing heat deep inside of the gut where a storm is surely forming. Blow away the thoughts before they catch up sanity.
Get off. Shoot leave me alone won’t you. I can’t do anything, I can’t move, it feels like I can’t even turn around without you yelling at me to do something else. You clamp down on my freedom,,,,,,somethings just don’t get off……..the clamp on… and never NEVER let you go
I felt a tightening pressure in the back of my throat, restricting air from returning to my lungs. My eyes were dropping inch by inch, until they fell to the ground where the dead body lay. I couldn’t bring myself to face them, I never could. I inhaled once and licked my lips, restraining from crying out in anger or fear. I just couldn’t bring myself to live.
I clamped my fist into the side of my t-shirt, turning away from the pressuring stares in front of me. I clenched my teeth and tried not to scream but they didn’t understand. They didn’t get it. I shook my head, feeling sweat and tears begin to drip from my cheeks. I couldn’t do it. I turned my head back towards them and widened my eyes, letting out a blood curdling scream.
“YOU DON’T GET IT.” I cried out in pain. “YOU WILL NEVER GET IT.”
Something that allows you to attach one thing to another.
The hand clamped onto his shoulder. He didn’t have time to react; he was already pulled out of the car. He rolled over and over on the ground until he came to a stop, seeing his adversary rolling to his feet and slowly walking towards him.
closing the spaces
opening possibilities
holding tight the emotions of our hearts, the tears in our eyes
being the support, the space that shapes and offers form
small or large, closed or open, loose or tight
closing the spaces
opening possibilities
holding tight the emotions of our hearts, the tears in our eyes
being the support, the space that shapes and offers form
small or large, closed or open, loose or tight
His hand clamped down, fingers inadvertently digging into her arm. “Don’t go, please,” he said. “I need your help.” He look even paler than usual, and his eyes were wide in desperation.
“Okay,” she said, heart beating wildly, “I’ll stay with you tonight, you’re going to be all right. Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”
I don’t usually pay attention to my hands, or other people’s for that matter. But when you think about it, they’re pretty strong little pieces of flesh. Under the right circumstances, or the very very wrong circumstances, one can find that those hands can be put to do incredible things.
Her hand clamped around his throat, choking him as he gasped for air, “Do you like this?” He clawed at her hand, legs swinging over open air. Soon he was unconscious, body going limp; she tossed him to the floor, his unmoving form of no use to her now. “My job is done.”
Biting my lip. Jaw tightened. Clamped shut. My words will only be twisted and baked by their minds, into some horrible unintended creation. I save my words for ones who will understand. Not these fools.
I never used to write. No, that’s a lie. I used to write all the time. Scribbles upon scribbles. Endless pages of my messy and chaotic thoughts that never seemed to describe just what I was trying to communicate. But then it stopped for a while. It stopping did more than just silence my thoughts. It clamped my being. Like a vice that kept getting tighter and tighter. I know not why I stopped. But I do know that I need that freedom again. So again, I write. Dirty and without eloquence. But nevertheless. With each pen stroke I feel the clamp loosen.
you press your heart and against your chest
and you stop and clamp it
then take a rest
or you don’t know where
it’ll jump out and hide
into the abiss
or someones eyes
you know for sure
that you’ll make a new mess
and loss your self
in a beautiful dress
because you’re always searching
for something new
and you know that there
is nothing you can do
so you take a deep breath
and say your own name
this time you’ll try
but i’ll be just the same
Jennifer proceeded to clamp her teeth down on her mother’s hand, hard, though not hard enough to draw blood. The bite, however, was enough to elicit a high-pitched, squawking scream, as the poor woman tried to shake her daughter off her arm like a bird trying to ruffle its feathers. I stood up from my chair then, leaving my unfinished meatloaf behind.
“Jennifer,” I said. “Sit.”
She stared, mouth still on skin.
“You’re going to act like a dog, I treat you like a dog. Sit.”
The gloved hand clamped around Norine’s throat like a vice.
“Tell me where it is,” Norine’s captor growled. The voice was low and feminine.
Norine’s face flushed as more and more oxygen left her. She was too restricted to even wheeze. Finally, her captor removed her wrench hand from Norine’s trachea. Norine gasped and saw nothing but shrinking black holes for a moment.
Shut up! He said. Quick, get down.
I held my breath, lightening my grip on the window cutters, waiting for the security guard to pass by. This seemed like a hell of a lot of security just for one diamond. In Africa of all places. Couldn’t they just go in to their mine and get another one? It wasn’t even beautiful or big, it just existed – a shiny lump of coal.
But he treasured it beyond words, and it was his by right, and I had promised to get it back. Even death wouldn’t stop that.
His fingers clamped onto her wrist, but with a writhe and a twist, she broke free and slammed the heel of her hand into his nose, hard. She heard a crunch and smiled. A textbook defense, perfectly executed.
The emotional pain of letting the daily comfort of her friends slip behind felt like a clamp on her heart
clamp down buddies it’s going to be a wild ride.
Light the lamp mama the party is heading our way.
clamp down buddies it’s going to be a wild ride.
Light the lamp mama the party is heading our way.
For years my life seemed to be a trap. It always seemed as though i was stuck in spot, unable to see any horizon beyond my window ledge. my house had me clamped in spot. and I don’t know how i’m going to undo the bolts.
These funny chubby legs won’t cycle me to your house. I’m clamped down, sweaty palms on the handlebars, but they just wont get going. I feel wild, frantic, because I know this park is no place to loiter. There are faces in every darkness. I feel eyes, chasing the curve of my hips, my curling hair on my neck.
The gator clamped down on the man’s arm before he even had time to react. There was no way to get himself away from the monster’s jaws and began to think back on his life. The ups and downs and all the mistakes he’d made up to that point. It could be considered that messing with this beast was one of those mistakes.
existential crises the same that remains the cause
of anxiety exited me
the laugh the love the lost
how we caused the cost
and everything seemed to slip away
in the night the day and fell astray
it clamp clamped on to me
The clamp slowed the bleeding, but it was already too late. She looked up at me, already deep in blood-loss shock and her tears streaked the camouflage on her face. ‘Don’t forget me.’ She said.
Alice sold the land, on condition that the house be torn down. Watching it be destroyed was like having a clamp removed from her heart. That part of her life was over now.
it shut down and fixates on your gaze. it’s not going to sever this arm, not today, but it’s going to cling tighter than you can imagine. it’s metallic bite forces you over that edge, past what you thought you wanted. i kicked it beyond my horizon and it comes back. this recurring force.
it clamped the potato chip bag shut; however, what an unusual clamp it was, for it was actually a crab.
Afraid to lose her feelings, she clamped down the entrance to her heart. Her eyes grew darker, her eyebrows turned down like shutters at night, and she set her mouth small and firm. But she didn’t know: she couldn’t capture feelings like she could photos, like the photos she kept on the walls in her room whose covers she would dust every Monday. You keep the feelings inside your heart but the purest of angels, locked up, begin to mutate, and claw away from the inside. She had difficulty breathing, after a while, and she opened her mouth wider, but nothing came out, her throat was dry. The clamp went deeper. She didn’t know how to reach inside her own heart to loosen it.
She clamps her teeth together, hard, trying to prevent the hysterical sounds from leaving her. All of her shrill words pile up in her mouth like bones, dusty and hollow. She wonders, indistinctly, how things came to be this way.
Teehee…hard limits…gotta love how those can change.
“Shit. Its stuck,” Emily said from the living room.
“What is?” i asked, turning the corner.
She looked up at me from her place on the couch and gestured to the little clamp keeping her chip bag closed.
I chuckled, “Of course that’s what your upset about.”
I took the bag from her and sat with her on the couch, trying to unstick the clamp.
“Hey whats that supposed to mean?” she poked my side and rested her head in my lap, giggling.
She clamped her hand over my mouth, muffling my words and transforming them into something far removed from the hate-filled slurs I’d meant them to be.
“Will you shut up a minute and let me explain?” she hissed, her whispered-words clipped and frosty to the ear.
“IdonthavemuchofachoicenowdoI?”
She cocked her head to the side. “What?”
I reached up and pulled her hand away from my lips. “I said: ‘I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?'”
The clamp wasn’t strong enough to stay put. It kept falling off; there was nothing I could do about it. We needed to find a stronger light so we could continue on with the scene. We were far from finished and needed to get moving. The clamp problem sure wasn’t helping us at all.
Oh, this is easy. Nipple clamp. That’s what comes to mind. I’m not a pervert or anything. It’s just that’s what I think of when I see the word clamp. Or something related to automobiles. Isn’t a clamp something that pinches two things together? An alligator clamp. A roach clip.
covered my eyes,
gripped me tight
and left fingertip-shaped bruises on my skin
that only we could see
black and blue hidden in the hollow of my throat,
embedded deep within my veins,
decorating the white of my bones,
arranged to the pattern of my pulse
your whispers shook my ribcage
and left vibrations in its wake
your lips tingled
and left the redness on my skin
all you had to do was look
and my eyes would bleed,
drown in all the things you could do to me
but didn’t
Clamp down on the surging emotion, the piercing heat deep inside of the gut where a storm is surely forming. Blow away the thoughts before they catch up sanity.
Get off. Shoot leave me alone won’t you. I can’t do anything, I can’t move, it feels like I can’t even turn around without you yelling at me to do something else. You clamp down on my freedom,,,,,,somethings just don’t get off……..the clamp on… and never NEVER let you go
I felt a tightening pressure in the back of my throat, restricting air from returning to my lungs. My eyes were dropping inch by inch, until they fell to the ground where the dead body lay. I couldn’t bring myself to face them, I never could. I inhaled once and licked my lips, restraining from crying out in anger or fear. I just couldn’t bring myself to live.
I clamped my fist into the side of my t-shirt, turning away from the pressuring stares in front of me. I clenched my teeth and tried not to scream but they didn’t understand. They didn’t get it. I shook my head, feeling sweat and tears begin to drip from my cheeks. I couldn’t do it. I turned my head back towards them and widened my eyes, letting out a blood curdling scream.
“YOU DON’T GET IT.” I cried out in pain. “YOU WILL NEVER GET IT.”
Don’t let go, and don’t let anyone in. Don’t let air come in or out, no wet, moldy, bacteria-sprouting air.
You clamped down on my life. Restricting. I try to break free, but to no avail. I am no longer free.
Something that allows you to attach one thing to another.
The hand clamped onto his shoulder. He didn’t have time to react; he was already pulled out of the car. He rolled over and over on the ground until he came to a stop, seeing his adversary rolling to his feet and slowly walking towards him.
I have no idea…
closing the spaces
opening possibilities
holding tight the emotions of our hearts, the tears in our eyes
being the support, the space that shapes and offers form
small or large, closed or open, loose or tight
closing the spaces
opening possibilities
holding tight the emotions of our hearts, the tears in our eyes
being the support, the space that shapes and offers form
small or large, closed or open, loose or tight
His hand clamped down, fingers inadvertently digging into her arm. “Don’t go, please,” he said. “I need your help.” He look even paler than usual, and his eyes were wide in desperation.
“Okay,” she said, heart beating wildly, “I’ll stay with you tonight, you’re going to be all right. Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”
I don’t usually pay attention to my hands, or other people’s for that matter. But when you think about it, they’re pretty strong little pieces of flesh. Under the right circumstances, or the very very wrong circumstances, one can find that those hands can be put to do incredible things.
Her hand clamped around his throat, choking him as he gasped for air, “Do you like this?” He clawed at her hand, legs swinging over open air. Soon he was unconscious, body going limp; she tossed him to the floor, his unmoving form of no use to her now. “My job is done.”
Biting my lip. Jaw tightened. Clamped shut. My words will only be twisted and baked by their minds, into some horrible unintended creation. I save my words for ones who will understand. Not these fools.
He clamped on hard. It hurt when he did it, and I didn’t know what to do, The blood stopped, but it still hurt.
What will happen?….
I never used to write. No, that’s a lie. I used to write all the time. Scribbles upon scribbles. Endless pages of my messy and chaotic thoughts that never seemed to describe just what I was trying to communicate. But then it stopped for a while. It stopping did more than just silence my thoughts. It clamped my being. Like a vice that kept getting tighter and tighter. I know not why I stopped. But I do know that I need that freedom again. So again, I write. Dirty and without eloquence. But nevertheless. With each pen stroke I feel the clamp loosen.
you press your heart and against your chest
and you stop and clamp it
then take a rest
or you don’t know where
it’ll jump out and hide
into the abiss
or someones eyes
you know for sure
that you’ll make a new mess
and loss your self
in a beautiful dress
because you’re always searching
for something new
and you know that there
is nothing you can do
so you take a deep breath
and say your own name
this time you’ll try
but i’ll be just the same
Jennifer proceeded to clamp her teeth down on her mother’s hand, hard, though not hard enough to draw blood. The bite, however, was enough to elicit a high-pitched, squawking scream, as the poor woman tried to shake her daughter off her arm like a bird trying to ruffle its feathers. I stood up from my chair then, leaving my unfinished meatloaf behind.
“Jennifer,” I said. “Sit.”
She stared, mouth still on skin.
“You’re going to act like a dog, I treat you like a dog. Sit.”