Weave your fabric to your own style. Be who you want to be. Have no regrets. Live life to the fullest. Wear your emotions on your sleeve. Tell the people you love, that you love them. Never judge a book by its cover. This world is so full of evil things. It is your clay, mold it to what you want it to be, you are a tailor, an artist, a work of art. Peace Be With You.
soft, fabric, that your dry, cracking fingers catch on. Dirt-dried hands tightening my tie, buttoning my shirt, flipping my collar over to complete the effort – my hands rough, catch my the loops in the fabric of my tie, pulling them out
the fabric of our lives, what keeps us together, that’s what they call it, right? the simple threads holding us beside each other…i don’t know what happened to the pieces. why are we suddenly unraveling into separate pieces.
bring the needle and the thread and sew us back together again. keep us together.
Ooh fabric. I have fabric on my walls that you wont ever see again…I think I’ll turn the fabric into pillows. I like fabric. If I could make dresses with fabric I would. I have made a Halloween costume or two in my time. And this is by far my worst entry. I don’t like fabric anymore.
fabric
soft, yielding, covering
cutting, pliable
soft coldness on summer days, wrapping around me muffling sounds hiding under turning it into a cocoon. Maybe I’ll come out different from when I began. Hiding, not hearing, escaping wrapped under it avoiding filtered sun.
What the hell the word was fabric yesterday. This sucks I wanted a new cool word to keep me entertained today in English class. Boooooo, angry eyes. Well this sucks, yeah that’s about it.
the rip destroyed any hope of the dress being finished in time. It was a jagged tear, in the middle of the skirt. The blemish could not be covered up, say, by a bow or a piece of lace, without drawing even more attention to it. Cinderella stood suddenly and threw the garment into the fireplace,
I will always remember the most incredible fabric shop in downtown Syracuse. It was owned and operated by an little old tailor, Bolts of amazing textiles where stacked up to the ceiling–every hue and texture imaginable. If you were looking for something speci
It’s hard, it seems evil. It is the everyday life. It produces everything I see. I love my chokolate. I hate the ones who made it. I am alojne among many. Grey, empty. Who is better? I place my name at the bottom of the product. Help. The world. Closer. Far away. Made in China.
is soft sweet supple and everything imaginable. my teddy bear sat against the pillow, looking forlorn. i breathed in his sweet old smell, the smell of fabric, and hugs, and tears and sweat. I nuzzled him to my neck. “It’s okay.” i said. “I still love you…” He knew it. but i had so many other things these days…
Fabric is many things. Many boring things. The interesting fabric, that’s the kind that you can’t see. The opposite of fashion, I guess. The kind of fabric I’m interested in, it’s the stuff that connects everyone. The fabric of the universe, if you will. The reason why we have hope.
The fabris of our lives, woven together, is breaking at the seams. I kiss your mouth, and follow downwards, fixing it with my tongue. It won’t last, but temporary measures are all I have
runs deep within the darkness of that space within the cushions of a couch. The nothingness that fills the void between the crevice on the way down really shows a substantial amount of fear for the little area that it really occupies. Coins, wallets, cellphones, all fall and fear of loss is the first emotion felt when one realizes what has just occurred. Maybe a reach down into the couch along the smooth design of the wondrous soft seat. If it is recovered then the the job has been done and all that is expected of the simple.
My mom has clothes of course. But they’re not made of clouds like the angels. (even though I think she might be one of them.) Her garments are made of fabric.
the fabric that you and i sleep on, this piece of white cloth that holds us in its bare hands, this bed that is going to be stained with love, lust, sweat, tears, more sweat and more. this witness or our sleepless night…
fabric is crazy. some are fashionable and some arent. poly and poly blends equal barf according to stacy and clinton. i like organic cotton. it feels nice on my skinny skin skin.
soft fabric against my skin, so soft and so luxurious, amazing and soft, almost sexual, fantasizing about another person wrapped up in it, special, a lovely evening, amazing sensual protruding special female box wah smooth smothering her in chocolate ice cream, even though i don’t even like ice cream or chocolate
fabric is cool. I like fabric. red green blue purple. all colors are fun. i like to sew with fabric. with all kinds of colors. my grandma sews too. she does quilts. she helped me make a quilt once. we named it stars and stripes. it’s beautiful. i take it with me everywhere.
The touch of the fabric against my skin sent shivers down my back. It was like no other,as soft as silk, as light as a feather, as strong as chain mail, and the beauty, it fell like water and clung to my body.
my mother’s hands
the leftover clothes in fathers closet
the quilt i never completed
the cotton ads
genetic modification
the time i had in the back of the booth
all of those
fabric is smooth, soft, rough, stiff, and soemtimes its kind of gross who even thought of fabric what a stupid idea. just kidding, without it, we wouldn’t have clothes, which might result in us looking slightly awkward. actually, im glad that we have fabric because i dont want to see some people without fabric. thank god for fabric.
fabric is always interesting because it composes most of the identity that we hold ourselves against. Unless we are referring to the fabric of space and time, in which case we are speaking about the cloth of the universe itself. I’m afraid if that is the case we are clearly out of our league. However, we might be speaking metaphorcally about the fabric of our lives. Our decisions. Our hopes.
fabric, long flowing with colors like a rainbow. Making dressing, garments, soft quilts… use of skill and charm, imagination and mind. Soft fleece, silks, rayon, knits, anything! just fabric.
Soft covering plush furniture. draping around voluptuous curves and boyish figures. deep purples and reds velvets and silks: the apex of luxury embodied in this simple word.
the fabric, so smooth…him lying on it…it made no sense at the time. i couldn’t figure out these feelings. i felt dizzy and i felt euphoric at the same time. if only my mind could comprehend the hidden dangers that lurk. i surrender to this nothingness. so that i may be.
The morning light dappled the fabric of the bed sheet, making subtle, shifting patterns of shadows and light. The sunlight warmed the two through the light cover of the sheet and gently pulled them to wakefulness. The warm scent of sex and clean sheets brought memories of passion to the twilight land between true sleep and the anticipation of thought.
The woman stretched, moving under the sheets, and the sun-warmed fabric created a sibilant sound as it slid against her skin. She arched her back into the man’s chest and stomach as he draped his arm around her to pull her closer. The sound stopped with their stillness. They drifted back to sleep as the shadows slowly chased the light across the sheet.
the soft fabric of his tee shirt whispered across the skin of her bare back. she leaned back into his loving embrace, losing her senses in the sweet and intoxicating scent of his aftershave. he was the solace she yearned, the subtle warmth of the sun on one’s face after a wintry cold night.
Weave your fabric to your own style. Be who you want to be. Have no regrets. Live life to the fullest. Wear your emotions on your sleeve. Tell the people you love, that you love them. Never judge a book by its cover. This world is so full of evil things. It is your clay, mold it to what you want it to be, you are a tailor, an artist, a work of art. Peace Be With You.
soft, fabric, that your dry, cracking fingers catch on. Dirt-dried hands tightening my tie, buttoning my shirt, flipping my collar over to complete the effort – my hands rough, catch my the loops in the fabric of my tie, pulling them out
the fabric of our lives, what keeps us together, that’s what they call it, right? the simple threads holding us beside each other…i don’t know what happened to the pieces. why are we suddenly unraveling into separate pieces.
bring the needle and the thread and sew us back together again. keep us together.
please don’t tear us apart.
Ooh fabric. I have fabric on my walls that you wont ever see again…I think I’ll turn the fabric into pillows. I like fabric. If I could make dresses with fabric I would. I have made a Halloween costume or two in my time. And this is by far my worst entry. I don’t like fabric anymore.
the fabric is soft, flowing about me like a currant in the ocean. I feel it wind around me, smothering me. Simple yet complete.
My mom keeps telling me she wants to cover her walls in burlap. And all I can think is “but burlap is so ITCHY.”
I’m not sure why I am so concerned with whether her walls will be itchy or not. I can’t remember the last time I rubbed up against a wall.
Wait. Yes I can. But that was a highschool dance. So it’s different.
fabric
soft, yielding, covering
cutting, pliable
soft coldness on summer days, wrapping around me muffling sounds hiding under turning it into a cocoon. Maybe I’ll come out different from when I began. Hiding, not hearing, escaping wrapped under it avoiding filtered sun.
Colorful, soft, clothing material. Or a word used to denote the ties that bind — as in ‘the fabric of our life’.
What the hell the word was fabric yesterday. This sucks I wanted a new cool word to keep me entertained today in English class. Boooooo, angry eyes. Well this sucks, yeah that’s about it.
the rip destroyed any hope of the dress being finished in time. It was a jagged tear, in the middle of the skirt. The blemish could not be covered up, say, by a bow or a piece of lace, without drawing even more attention to it. Cinderella stood suddenly and threw the garment into the fireplace,
I will always remember the most incredible fabric shop in downtown Syracuse. It was owned and operated by an little old tailor, Bolts of amazing textiles where stacked up to the ceiling–every hue and texture imaginable. If you were looking for something speci
It’s hard, it seems evil. It is the everyday life. It produces everything I see. I love my chokolate. I hate the ones who made it. I am alojne among many. Grey, empty. Who is better? I place my name at the bottom of the product. Help. The world. Closer. Far away. Made in China.
is soft sweet supple and everything imaginable. my teddy bear sat against the pillow, looking forlorn. i breathed in his sweet old smell, the smell of fabric, and hugs, and tears and sweat. I nuzzled him to my neck. “It’s okay.” i said. “I still love you…” He knew it. but i had so many other things these days…
itchy. smooth. cold. ribbed. dank. wind-lifted.
Fabric is many things. Many boring things. The interesting fabric, that’s the kind that you can’t see. The opposite of fashion, I guess. The kind of fabric I’m interested in, it’s the stuff that connects everyone. The fabric of the universe, if you will. The reason why we have hope.
the fabric of our lives. It’s woven in the past but not the future. Gone are the days of beuatiful linens. Shop in China. Cheap and plentiful.
Fabric is for your Mom. Have her sew it into your garment and make it new.
Fab
The fabris of our lives, woven together, is breaking at the seams. I kiss your mouth, and follow downwards, fixing it with my tongue. It won’t last, but temporary measures are all I have
runs deep within the darkness of that space within the cushions of a couch. The nothingness that fills the void between the crevice on the way down really shows a substantial amount of fear for the little area that it really occupies. Coins, wallets, cellphones, all fall and fear of loss is the first emotion felt when one realizes what has just occurred. Maybe a reach down into the couch along the smooth design of the wondrous soft seat. If it is recovered then the the job has been done and all that is expected of the simple.
My mom has clothes of course. But they’re not made of clouds like the angels. (even though I think she might be one of them.) Her garments are made of fabric.
the fabric that you and i sleep on, this piece of white cloth that holds us in its bare hands, this bed that is going to be stained with love, lust, sweat, tears, more sweat and more. this witness or our sleepless night…
The fabric of somes lives is like the cracks on the wall, always moving, but never going anywhere.
fabric is crazy. some are fashionable and some arent. poly and poly blends equal barf according to stacy and clinton. i like organic cotton. it feels nice on my skinny skin skin.
soft fabric against my skin, so soft and so luxurious, amazing and soft, almost sexual, fantasizing about another person wrapped up in it, special, a lovely evening, amazing sensual protruding special female box wah smooth smothering her in chocolate ice cream, even though i don’t even like ice cream or chocolate
fabric is cool. I like fabric. red green blue purple. all colors are fun. i like to sew with fabric. with all kinds of colors. my grandma sews too. she does quilts. she helped me make a quilt once. we named it stars and stripes. it’s beautiful. i take it with me everywhere.
soft cotton springtime
want to wake up next to you
fresh linen
a storm cloud
kiss you clean again
shifting off freckled skin
expose
unveil
The touch of the fabric against my skin sent shivers down my back. It was like no other,as soft as silk, as light as a feather, as strong as chain mail, and the beauty, it fell like water and clung to my body.
the fields stitched together
my hair stretched above my head
fabric of many colors
hot air balloons
the second skin
my mother’s hands
the leftover clothes in fathers closet
the quilt i never completed
the cotton ads
genetic modification
the time i had in the back of the booth
all of those
Fabric.
Home dawg.
it’s awesome.
It keeps you warm.
It covers my toes.
essential
fabric is smooth, soft, rough, stiff, and soemtimes its kind of gross who even thought of fabric what a stupid idea. just kidding, without it, we wouldn’t have clothes, which might result in us looking slightly awkward. actually, im glad that we have fabric because i dont want to see some people without fabric. thank god for fabric.
fabric is always interesting because it composes most of the identity that we hold ourselves against. Unless we are referring to the fabric of space and time, in which case we are speaking about the cloth of the universe itself. I’m afraid if that is the case we are clearly out of our league. However, we might be speaking metaphorcally about the fabric of our lives. Our decisions. Our hopes.
He was young, too young to realize how useful it could become. Frantically patting his pockets, he produced a zippo lighter.
fabric, long flowing with colors like a rainbow. Making dressing, garments, soft quilts… use of skill and charm, imagination and mind. Soft fleece, silks, rayon, knits, anything! just fabric.
Soft covering plush furniture. draping around voluptuous curves and boyish figures. deep purples and reds velvets and silks: the apex of luxury embodied in this simple word.
the fabric, so smooth…him lying on it…it made no sense at the time. i couldn’t figure out these feelings. i felt dizzy and i felt euphoric at the same time. if only my mind could comprehend the hidden dangers that lurk. i surrender to this nothingness. so that i may be.
The morning light dappled the fabric of the bed sheet, making subtle, shifting patterns of shadows and light. The sunlight warmed the two through the light cover of the sheet and gently pulled them to wakefulness. The warm scent of sex and clean sheets brought memories of passion to the twilight land between true sleep and the anticipation of thought.
The woman stretched, moving under the sheets, and the sun-warmed fabric created a sibilant sound as it slid against her skin. She arched her back into the man’s chest and stomach as he draped his arm around her to pull her closer. The sound stopped with their stillness. They drifted back to sleep as the shadows slowly chased the light across the sheet.
the soft fabric of his tee shirt whispered across the skin of her bare back. she leaned back into his loving embrace, losing her senses in the sweet and intoxicating scent of his aftershave. he was the solace she yearned, the subtle warmth of the sun on one’s face after a wintry cold night.