I took another hit. We couldn’t talk anymore, we were so high. Stumbling around the room. We had gotten back from the bar about an hour ago, how could be this incapacitated this quickly? We were pretty messed up. This is a disaster. Where’s the lighter? Gotta go outside for a smoke…
you’re hit, you’re falling.. you’re afraid. what do you do? there’s no one there, no one there to catch you. you’re alone as you hit the floor, and as the darkness overcomes you..
TakeSTake a hit. Take in the things around you, while you lose a bit of you with every exhale. Worries going up with the smoke and vanishing out of sight, but not completly gone. Just another drag and just another step closer to the end.
as the mass of iron and lead streaked across the sky, it impacted the car, causing it to hurtle into a firey tailspin hitting the pavement. young elroy jetson was pronounced dead at the scene. he should’ve never taken george’s car for a joyride.
I don’t think he meant to hit me, it was the only way he knew to stop me. His anger was raw and unteathered, like a drunken fire. I saw stars then tears rushed to my eyes. I wanted him not to see my saddness only My anger. Is this how we protect that heat?
You hit me. In the face. And you had made me take off my glasses first so you wouldn’t ruin what you pay good money for. Why did I listen to you when I was a child? Who would take off their glasses so that they’re mom could hit them?
People always hit her but she doesn’t care. She is still confident, beautiful. She could be broken from all the hits she’s received and hits she’s taken but she refuses those things to take over her life.
It’s a hit. Don’t hit me. Hit me. It’s hit or miss. What a useful word. Which shall I choose. It’s a hit. Success. Like a slap in the face, sudden, unexpected. Wait–a welcome slap in the face? What’s going on here?
I can’t believe the word for today is “hit” is there some form of conspiracy, telling me “Write what it feels like to be hit by another person’s eyes. If looks could kill I suppose they could hit and slap and control as well. I am just saying I don’t like it, not at all. Leave me alone with your eyes, your hands your steelyness. Let my disappointment become armor, not a veil of meekness. Why do I, or have I, chosen meekness?
she hit me again and again. I didn’t hit back, I tried to be stoic; I merely said “Don’t hit me!” The kids saw her do it, I’m embarassed and humiliated. How did
He hit me! I couldn’t believe it. He HIT me! We’ve been best friends since we were 5 and he just hauled out and hit me. A punch in the nose (which is bleeding, now, by the way, and might be broken!). Of all the things we’ve been through, and all the fights we’ve had over the year…he hits me over THIS!?
The stench of “The Buccaneer” hit Captain Rueben in the face. It was vile. He slammed a white handkerchief to his nostrils as he descended the slave hold steps. He had to inspect ten African men before noon.
Morning always hits me like a smack in the face. Stings at first, but as time passes, I adjust and suck it up…move on. One day I’ll learn to just ignore the pain; perhaps this is what true adults do. Who knows? I just know I’ll miss being a kid; sometimes it’s nice to feel something. I’m nearly numb, every single day now.
I’ve never been hit out of malice. Though being hit in a sexual situation is admittedly enjoyable. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a BDSM girl…but there’s an animal in each of us and violence is linked to satisfaction. Or perhaps I’m just an endangered animal and everyone else is a prude compared to me. Maybe I’m the only animal in a world full of tamed beasts. But I think that’s false.
I wish you two wouldn’t hit each other. I have to help my son hit the baseball. We hit the road in the summer for camp. I hit another car with mine and am still paying the insurance.
The German bug has hit me. Recipes to cook good German food. My quick trip to Berlin, reading about the Second World War. The history of German opera, I dance to a waltz in my dreams, leaning into my brother’s comic books, I see Adolf looking at Poland through his big binoculars.
The red bus clipped his knee. The crowd stood still as the passenger toppled in front of a taxi. A sharp hoot then the man wriggled away, the contents of his satchel slipping to the pavement.
The jag almost hit Heinrich. Almost! A blur of tears, the skid of the unknown driver, jumping out of the way, his blue suede shoes muddy with gravel but not his blood. He moved like a cheetah to escape death by a whisker!
i just hit this thing on the road. i kept thinking – what is it? do i want to get off and see? i knew i had to, so i slowly opened the door. i could see the remains splattered on the street. it was just a toy.
The hit sent him reeling across the beer barrels. Billy Joe got up and staggered towards the bar, blood was pouring from a cut lip.
The cowboys parted as he thumped the counter, demanding a shot of Bourbon.
Ali hit the punch bag. “What’s my name, Cassius Clay, no Mohammed Ali”. The punch bag sagged and bounced as Ali hammered and repeated, “What’s my name…”.
JFK’s death hit the world with such an intensity. Even today people are still grieving but why did it have to happen? Such a charming, handsome, beautiful, clever man to be cut down in his prime, with his beautiful wife Jackie and two smiling kids left crying but America was going through a lot of stuff during JFK’s life.
The fist smashed into my jaw, sending me reelins sideways. I tasked the sharp metallic tang of blood in my mouth, the cruchy sharpness of chips of molar. I spat out the which morsels, sending them scattering over the stained carpet. My head swung back and forth like a pendulum, gazing first at my husband, his clenched fist still rigid, frozen at the point of impact, and my son, my darling Michael, wide-eyed with fear. His tiny fingers scrabbled onthe carpet, and picked up what appeared to be a front tooth. I ran my tongue over the empty gap. It was mine. Michael peered at the bloodied gum in my mouth, and began to wail, a high, keening siren, splitting my head FML.
Hit and run. The tragedy on 54th Street. Some drunk driver run over an old man and dodged the red light. A blue mustang, but nobody got the Reg no. The windows were blacked out.
He hit him with a ruler. A sharp rap on the knuckles. He buckled and fell forward. The teacher moved away and his friend caught him. His hand turned red. A few slight welts were there and they can be seen, even today.
When people say “like” too much
You should HIT them in the head
Ending with “and sh#t” is trite
So kick them until their dead
“Stomp ’em in the nuts”, as Thugnificent raps
then roll them over in a ditch-load of crap
Extend this those whose limited vocabulary
has only one adjective that goes, M Fing
(Brought to you by the Society for Intelligence and Nurturing with the Foundation for Using correct Language) [<–did you get the hidden word in the parentheses? First time? I think not!] Arrivederci
I’m hit on all sides by duties, obligations. Too much to deal with, clutter, appointments, wash days, get to the bottom of stuff, too much to handle, I’ve got to hit clutter between the eyes.
One more hit ought to do him, he thought. He punched the bag with as much determination as he could dredge up from the exhausted fibers of his muscles.
When kids think o’er the rules they’re above
spare a rod and hit their butts out of love
Reward good deeds with things of ultimate bliss
Then when they’re bad, take them to be missed
I took another hit. We couldn’t talk anymore, we were so high. Stumbling around the room. We had gotten back from the bar about an hour ago, how could be this incapacitated this quickly? We were pretty messed up. This is a disaster. Where’s the lighter? Gotta go outside for a smoke…
Hit the floor when you are on fire. Stop. Drop and Roll.
you’re hit, you’re falling.. you’re afraid. what do you do? there’s no one there, no one there to catch you. you’re alone as you hit the floor, and as the darkness overcomes you..
TakeSTake a hit. Take in the things around you, while you lose a bit of you with every exhale. Worries going up with the smoke and vanishing out of sight, but not completly gone. Just another drag and just another step closer to the end.
Hit the brakes all you Toyota owners!
Hit the brakes all you Toyota owners!
It just hit me that this would be excellent movie material.
as the mass of iron and lead streaked across the sky, it impacted the car, causing it to hurtle into a firey tailspin hitting the pavement. young elroy jetson was pronounced dead at the scene. he should’ve never taken george’s car for a joyride.
I don’t think he meant to hit me, it was the only way he knew to stop me. His anger was raw and unteathered, like a drunken fire. I saw stars then tears rushed to my eyes. I wanted him not to see my saddness only My anger. Is this how we protect that heat?
You hit me. In the face. And you had made me take off my glasses first so you wouldn’t ruin what you pay good money for. Why did I listen to you when I was a child? Who would take off their glasses so that they’re mom could hit them?
People always hit her but she doesn’t care. She is still confident, beautiful. She could be broken from all the hits she’s received and hits she’s taken but she refuses those things to take over her life.
It’s a hit. Don’t hit me. Hit me. It’s hit or miss. What a useful word. Which shall I choose. It’s a hit. Success. Like a slap in the face, sudden, unexpected. Wait–a welcome slap in the face? What’s going on here?
You hit me fast and furious.
You leave bruises that only I can see.
You scar me deeply, quickly.
You rip me from limb to limb.
You do this with your words and your indifference.
I hope you die in a house fire.
I can’t believe the word for today is “hit” is there some form of conspiracy, telling me “Write what it feels like to be hit by another person’s eyes. If looks could kill I suppose they could hit and slap and control as well. I am just saying I don’t like it, not at all. Leave me alone with your eyes, your hands your steelyness. Let my disappointment become armor, not a veil of meekness. Why do I, or have I, chosen meekness?
gu, powder, weapon, target, success, music, commercial, marketing, ouch, bruise, hurt, pain, human, accident, care, medical care, bandage, Britney Spears, rock,
she hit me again and again. I didn’t hit back, I tried to be stoic; I merely said “Don’t hit me!” The kids saw her do it, I’m embarassed and humiliated. How did
Somebody
Bat
Baseball
Fight
Company
Human
Animal
Boy
School
Belt
Idea
Spring
He hit me! I couldn’t believe it. He HIT me! We’ve been best friends since we were 5 and he just hauled out and hit me. A punch in the nose (which is bleeding, now, by the way, and might be broken!). Of all the things we’ve been through, and all the fights we’ve had over the year…he hits me over THIS!?
The stench of “The Buccaneer” hit Captain Rueben in the face. It was vile. He slammed a white handkerchief to his nostrils as he descended the slave hold steps. He had to inspect ten African men before noon.
Morning always hits me like a smack in the face. Stings at first, but as time passes, I adjust and suck it up…move on. One day I’ll learn to just ignore the pain; perhaps this is what true adults do. Who knows? I just know I’ll miss being a kid; sometimes it’s nice to feel something. I’m nearly numb, every single day now.
I’ve never been hit out of malice. Though being hit in a sexual situation is admittedly enjoyable. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a BDSM girl…but there’s an animal in each of us and violence is linked to satisfaction. Or perhaps I’m just an endangered animal and everyone else is a prude compared to me. Maybe I’m the only animal in a world full of tamed beasts. But I think that’s false.
I like to hit.
Not drugs.
Just people.
Hit a tennis ball.
Hit my little sister.
Hit a bitch.
Hit. Hit. Hit.
All day long.
I made the best song in the world a couple of weeks ago.
It was a hit!
I sold it to local radio stations and marvelled at all the airtime it was getting. People were asking me for my autograph all the time.
I was a hit!
Getting drunk was a lot funner, since people bought me drinks all the time FOR FREE! I stumbled out into the street one night..
And I got hit! By a car!
Now I’m dead.
I wish you two wouldn’t hit each other. I have to help my son hit the baseball. We hit the road in the summer for camp. I hit another car with mine and am still paying the insurance.
The German bug has hit me. Recipes to cook good German food. My quick trip to Berlin, reading about the Second World War. The history of German opera, I dance to a waltz in my dreams, leaning into my brother’s comic books, I see Adolf looking at Poland through his big binoculars.
Heinrich hat sich den Kopf in Aufregung. Er wollte ein Vater sein. Der erste Sohn von seinem Vater zu einem Vater. “Ich mu
The red bus clipped his knee. The crowd stood still as the passenger toppled in front of a taxi. A sharp hoot then the man wriggled away, the contents of his satchel slipping to the pavement.
What would you think about when someone mentions the word “hit”? For me I’d think about maybe hitting someone when I’m angry.
The jag almost hit Heinrich. Almost! A blur of tears, the skid of the unknown driver, jumping out of the way, his blue suede shoes muddy with gravel but not his blood. He moved like a cheetah to escape death by a whisker!
i just hit this thing on the road. i kept thinking – what is it? do i want to get off and see? i knew i had to, so i slowly opened the door. i could see the remains splattered on the street. it was just a toy.
The hit sent him reeling across the beer barrels. Billy Joe got up and staggered towards the bar, blood was pouring from a cut lip.
The cowboys parted as he thumped the counter, demanding a shot of Bourbon.
Ali hit the punch bag. “What’s my name, Cassius Clay, no Mohammed Ali”. The punch bag sagged and bounced as Ali hammered and repeated, “What’s my name…”.
JFK’s death hit the world with such an intensity. Even today people are still grieving but why did it have to happen? Such a charming, handsome, beautiful, clever man to be cut down in his prime, with his beautiful wife Jackie and two smiling kids left crying but America was going through a lot of stuff during JFK’s life.
The fist smashed into my jaw, sending me reelins sideways. I tasked the sharp metallic tang of blood in my mouth, the cruchy sharpness of chips of molar. I spat out the which morsels, sending them scattering over the stained carpet. My head swung back and forth like a pendulum, gazing first at my husband, his clenched fist still rigid, frozen at the point of impact, and my son, my darling Michael, wide-eyed with fear. His tiny fingers scrabbled onthe carpet, and picked up what appeared to be a front tooth. I ran my tongue over the empty gap. It was mine. Michael peered at the bloodied gum in my mouth, and began to wail, a high, keening siren, splitting my head FML.
Hit and run. The tragedy on 54th Street. Some drunk driver run over an old man and dodged the red light. A blue mustang, but nobody got the Reg no. The windows were blacked out.
He hit him with a ruler. A sharp rap on the knuckles. He buckled and fell forward. The teacher moved away and his friend caught him. His hand turned red. A few slight welts were there and they can be seen, even today.
When people say “like” too much
You should HIT them in the head
Ending with “and sh#t” is trite
So kick them until their dead
“Stomp ’em in the nuts”, as Thugnificent raps
then roll them over in a ditch-load of crap
Extend this those whose limited vocabulary
has only one adjective that goes, M Fing
(Brought to you by the Society for Intelligence and Nurturing with the Foundation for Using correct Language) [<–did you get the hidden word in the parentheses? First time? I think not!] Arrivederci
I’m hit on all sides by duties, obligations. Too much to deal with, clutter, appointments, wash days, get to the bottom of stuff, too much to handle, I’ve got to hit clutter between the eyes.
One more hit ought to do him, he thought. He punched the bag with as much determination as he could dredge up from the exhausted fibers of his muscles.
When kids think o’er the rules they’re above
spare a rod and hit their butts out of love
Reward good deeds with things of ultimate bliss
Then when they’re bad, take them to be missed
by: The-Apotheosis