Bleeding emotions on your sleeves, the painful thumping within your chest. You wonder how it got this way, you wonder how far you’ve fallen this time. You wonder why you’ve given her your already broken heart for her to break even more. And you wonder if this time, there was even anything left to pick up. Somehow, it doesn’t seem as though there’s any way back anymore.
I dont know this word. I dont know what it means. English is not my first language … So … fragment … What is it ? I think it has something to do with writing … Am I right ?
I think I herd it before … somewhere …
Did you know that within one billionth of one billionth of a second after the big bang, the universe expanded by over a billion miles? Now that’s a productive fragment of time.
Fragment. Just tiny pieces of something much, much bigger. They could fall apart by accident or due to their own accord. It could be full of purpose and meaning, or it could be accidental, a sudden whim for change. Moments can be considered fragments. Or life. But that sounds too bleak, so I prefer moments.
all i have left is a fragment of my memory. everything is so faint and far away, just out of grasp. if i could only reach out my hand just a little bit further, i could grab everything and hold it tight, never letting it get away from me.
of my imagination. Sometimes they’re like shards of glass reflecting the worst of my nightmares back at me, forcing me to confront them. What can I do about it? Perhaps smashing them into dust, but won’t that just create more fragments and multiply my fears? Facing them is supposed to eliminate them but it only made it worse.
There was a fragment of armor thrown at me at high speeds. It felt almost as painful as a bullet would, consider the speed the explosion threw it at me. I shook it off, though, stronger than before. I knew the armor belonged to someone I could turn into if I hesitated.
shards of your identity lie in a heap of broken images. i will show you something different from either. fragments. your shadow at morning follows behind you in fragments. glass. crystal.
It came back to him only fleetingly, like a fragment of a dream that never was, a tantalising snatch of consciousness, too early and too soon to even become a glimpse of a reverie. A flimsy slither of thought. Of nothing, the merest wisp of a notion. Then, before it even had time to form or leave some remnant of itself, it disappeared, like an ethereal mist back into the subconsciousness.
It’s a fragment in time, a rip in the real. So little amount to change anything, yet just one thing can change it all. Just a moment in time, where it is all decided. Where everything goes from there. You’re just a fragemtn in time…yet…there is so much to be done. So much you can do.
it was just a fragment
a piece
one that she shouldn’t have found
but there it was
among the ashes
did he leave it there at the bottom of the stairs
on purpose?
urns
don’t break easily
she guessed that he had thrown
it hard
onto the concrete
fragments of paper scatered all over the floor of the chicken. that was what she found upon arriving home. she thought “how ironic is this?” as she thought that those pieces scatered somehow mirrored her own life.
there was a fragment of glass on the floor. she shuddered as she realized where it had come from. the body in the corner slumped against the wall. it couldn’t have been this bad. it just couldn’t have been. that man she had met earlier warned her. she thought he was crazy. but maybe he had more wisdom than she knew. she fell to the ground crying, knowing she’d never get the chance to say goodbye to her father.
Pieces. Shards. Life.
The wind refuses,
to ring your chimes,
The sun refuses,
to live out its life.
It stops.
It lingers.
It calls to the grave.
The fragment of it’s life,
lays cold in the earth.
It was all that was left of my grandmother’s rose vase. The one that her mother had brought from the European country she had come from, that was yellow with roses all over. It had fallen, cracked, and then swept away, so only one piece, a small yellow leaf, was left.
The Fragments of my heart, spilled all over the floor. Shattered into a million pieces, after you left for good. I guess I should’ve known better, but I was young and Naive and In LOVE.
fragment. not whole. left shattered and broken. you are the only one that has that power over me. not whole. you have the rest of me. give it back please??
There was a fragment of time when you said you hated me. Then another fragment of time when you said you liked me. Now the last fragment of time, hopfully, is when you say you love me.
a fragment. a piece. a sentence a thought incomplete. so much drama in a fragmented life. a fraction of a second can turn your life around. it can make or break you. a fragment of a set amount of time.
frag grenades are really nasty. Fragments are negative because who want just a piece i want the whole thing. perverted people double glance on this word cuz they see fag. well i dont but i can see how
I have a fragment of a though floating just above my head..looking for a place to land. I am trying to get ready to receive, but i think there is a concrete block siting between us. Wait, i think i found an opening…here it comes.
I feel like a fragment
You are such a bigger piece than me
yet you are just as broken
we are all crumbling but some of us can hold on to ourselves a little longer
put me back together before it’s too late
Fragment is a part of a whole. As in the whole thing. I have a fragment of a spaceship that crashed in my backyard. It’s made of metal. There was an alien body near the wreck. It looked like David Bowie. Might have BEEN David Bowie. If there are no more David Bowie albums it’s because he’s buried in my garden. Then my house will be a tourist trap. I can charge admission. I’ll be so rich. Amen.
Fragmenting, breaking apart, my life is going into ruin. The pieces, trying so hard to be put back together.
But the pieces don’t fit anymore, the shattered remains are useless.
its not complete. i wish i could have it all. the positivity of its existence is almost entirely overshadowed by its incompleteness. its existence is defined by the parts it doesnt have. can we relate?
how big is it? I usually think small. Fragment. can I hold it? will it shine in the light? is it coloured, perhaps? i do hope is purple. Or yellow. A fragment of someones dinner plate? Old and used, or thrown across the room in a fit of rage?
i am a fragment. stop. start. a gambler begins and ends, always. there has to be a better way or is it delusional to think that the physical nature of my life is just an aspect of a greater way of being? out of time.
he broke my heart in little fragments and he did not even realize it. i was shocked at his change of attitude. for him it meant nothing but for me it meant the world.
i could not pick the fragements and i was shattered. for him it was no big deal.
a fragment in the earth lead to mini dinosaur kitties hoping out and eating cancer. This will cause scientist to be confused for the rest of time. The end.
Fragmented sentences run through my mind,
a jmbule.
no coherent thoughts…
mind screams to be done with me,
splinters come through.
broken images are present,
darkness the only constant.
splintered i sit in my life, a part of what was once whole. will i ever be more than a fragment?
Bleeding emotions on your sleeves, the painful thumping within your chest. You wonder how it got this way, you wonder how far you’ve fallen this time. You wonder why you’ve given her your already broken heart for her to break even more. And you wonder if this time, there was even anything left to pick up. Somehow, it doesn’t seem as though there’s any way back anymore.
I dont know this word. I dont know what it means. English is not my first language … So … fragment … What is it ? I think it has something to do with writing … Am I right ?
I think I herd it before … somewhere …
Did you know that within one billionth of one billionth of a second after the big bang, the universe expanded by over a billion miles? Now that’s a productive fragment of time.
Fragment. Just tiny pieces of something much, much bigger. They could fall apart by accident or due to their own accord. It could be full of purpose and meaning, or it could be accidental, a sudden whim for change. Moments can be considered fragments. Or life. But that sounds too bleak, so I prefer moments.
all i have left is a fragment of my memory. everything is so faint and far away, just out of grasp. if i could only reach out my hand just a little bit further, i could grab everything and hold it tight, never letting it get away from me.
of my imagination. Sometimes they’re like shards of glass reflecting the worst of my nightmares back at me, forcing me to confront them. What can I do about it? Perhaps smashing them into dust, but won’t that just create more fragments and multiply my fears? Facing them is supposed to eliminate them but it only made it worse.
There was a fragment of armor thrown at me at high speeds. It felt almost as painful as a bullet would, consider the speed the explosion threw it at me. I shook it off, though, stronger than before. I knew the armor belonged to someone I could turn into if I hesitated.
shards of your identity lie in a heap of broken images. i will show you something different from either. fragments. your shadow at morning follows behind you in fragments. glass. crystal.
It came back to him only fleetingly, like a fragment of a dream that never was, a tantalising snatch of consciousness, too early and too soon to even become a glimpse of a reverie. A flimsy slither of thought. Of nothing, the merest wisp of a notion. Then, before it even had time to form or leave some remnant of itself, it disappeared, like an ethereal mist back into the subconsciousness.
It’s a fragment in time, a rip in the real. So little amount to change anything, yet just one thing can change it all. Just a moment in time, where it is all decided. Where everything goes from there. You’re just a fragemtn in time…yet…there is so much to be done. So much you can do.
oh my god.
I once used this name as a undercover in a internet forum.
It was when I was almost broken, when I was at the lowest low in my life…
The things that lead to it I still carry in my virtual backpack…
it was just a fragment
a piece
one that she shouldn’t have found
but there it was
among the ashes
did he leave it there at the bottom of the stairs
on purpose?
urns
don’t break easily
she guessed that he had thrown
it hard
onto the concrete
fragments of paper scatered all over the floor of the chicken. that was what she found upon arriving home. she thought “how ironic is this?” as she thought that those pieces scatered somehow mirrored her own life.
It was just a tiny fragment, no bigger than a grain of sand, who would have thought it could have done so much….
damn baby you lookin’ fine. can i buy you a fish sandwich?
(but really you’re just a fragment in the cornucopia of hoes i bang)
there was a fragment of glass on the floor. she shuddered as she realized where it had come from. the body in the corner slumped against the wall. it couldn’t have been this bad. it just couldn’t have been. that man she had met earlier warned her. she thought he was crazy. but maybe he had more wisdom than she knew. she fell to the ground crying, knowing she’d never get the chance to say goodbye to her father.
Piece part bit slice shard
It’s shattery shimmery
Bouncing off the tongue with a razor edge
It’s a weapon and a splinter
Something to edit
Something to cry about
Something left behind
Snatched at in the wind, but ultimately it’s a note with no melody
you were just a part of my life…. but it made me changed perspectives on a lot of things…so ty for being there.
Pieces. Shards. Life.
The wind refuses,
to ring your chimes,
The sun refuses,
to live out its life.
It stops.
It lingers.
It calls to the grave.
The fragment of it’s life,
lays cold in the earth.
escrever? que surpresa. nunca imaginei que esse site seria para escrever.
It was all that was left of my grandmother’s rose vase. The one that her mother had brought from the European country she had come from, that was yellow with roses all over. It had fallen, cracked, and then swept away, so only one piece, a small yellow leaf, was left.
The Fragments of my heart, spilled all over the floor. Shattered into a million pieces, after you left for good. I guess I should’ve known better, but I was young and Naive and In LOVE.
fragment. not whole. left shattered and broken. you are the only one that has that power over me. not whole. you have the rest of me. give it back please??
There was a fragment of time when you said you hated me. Then another fragment of time when you said you liked me. Now the last fragment of time, hopfully, is when you say you love me.
a fragment. a piece. a sentence a thought incomplete. so much drama in a fragmented life. a fraction of a second can turn your life around. it can make or break you. a fragment of a set amount of time.
frag grenades are really nasty. Fragments are negative because who want just a piece i want the whole thing. perverted people double glance on this word cuz they see fag. well i dont but i can see how
I have a fragment of a though floating just above my head..looking for a place to land. I am trying to get ready to receive, but i think there is a concrete block siting between us. Wait, i think i found an opening…here it comes.
I feel like a fragment
You are such a bigger piece than me
yet you are just as broken
we are all crumbling but some of us can hold on to ourselves a little longer
put me back together before it’s too late
A fragment of the rock tumbled down into the deep abyss never to be seen by any human again.
Fragment is a part of a whole. As in the whole thing. I have a fragment of a spaceship that crashed in my backyard. It’s made of metal. There was an alien body near the wreck. It looked like David Bowie. Might have BEEN David Bowie. If there are no more David Bowie albums it’s because he’s buried in my garden. Then my house will be a tourist trap. I can charge admission. I’ll be so rich. Amen.
Fragmenting, breaking apart, my life is going into ruin. The pieces, trying so hard to be put back together.
But the pieces don’t fit anymore, the shattered remains are useless.
fragment
its not complete. i wish i could have it all. the positivity of its existence is almost entirely overshadowed by its incompleteness. its existence is defined by the parts it doesnt have. can we relate?
how big is it? I usually think small. Fragment. can I hold it? will it shine in the light? is it coloured, perhaps? i do hope is purple. Or yellow. A fragment of someones dinner plate? Old and used, or thrown across the room in a fit of rage?
i am a fragment. stop. start. a gambler begins and ends, always. there has to be a better way or is it delusional to think that the physical nature of my life is just an aspect of a greater way of being? out of time.
Time sieves through the intricate mechanics of her watch. She sits in silence, a fragment of her mind stuck between the hands of minutes and seconds.
he broke my heart in little fragments and he did not even realize it. i was shocked at his change of attitude. for him it meant nothing but for me it meant the world.
i could not pick the fragements and i was shattered. for him it was no big deal.
a fragment in the earth lead to mini dinosaur kitties hoping out and eating cancer. This will cause scientist to be confused for the rest of time. The end.
Fragmented sentences run through my mind,
a jmbule.
no coherent thoughts…
mind screams to be done with me,
splinters come through.
broken images are present,
darkness the only constant.