It’s sharp and cold and everything we don’t want to see in this world. It’s like you, Ice and heat and hate and love and everything we really wish we didn’t have to look at. At the same time, though, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. So lovely that I can’t breathe each time I see your face. So stop it. Because you’re cold as ice, and we both no this is nothing but meltwater.
I wish we had snow in Florida. Then I would be able to see icicles form on the edge of our roof. I would be able to walk in the snow with someone I loved and share an Eskimo kiss.
The stabbing pain in his chest was not the worst of it. Nor the inability to catch his breath. The hardest part was accepting his failure, of having to return home to his hungry children empty handed. If only he hadn’t leaned so far into the freezer cabinet to get the biggest chicken and fallen on that icicle, everything would have been alright.
Frozen in space and time, I see the Machine’s central processing unit. Every other part has been restored and rebuilt a hundred times, but this has laid untouched for centuries. In fact, this is the first moment of civilization as we know it. Amazing.
Cold. Frozen, like your heart. Stabbing, like your tongue. Hanging precariously like the weight of all your wrongdoings. Icicles, like those you embedded in my skin. You are glass, frozen glass, temporary glass, melting, leaving me, leaving all of us.
The icicle was near breaking off the edge of the roof. I could see it before it fell. Had I not, it could have killed that kid. Instead it shattered into a million frozen pieces, all melting faster now that they weren’t together.
The Icicle reminds me of Winter which reminds me of Being cozy and drinking hot chocolate by the fire with your loved one, Icicle may be dangerous in some cases but they are usually very fun to lick .
The icicle hung cold and crystalline from the tree outside my window. It refracted the light of the sun through the window, spreading a rainbow on my hardwood floors and across the couch.
Beautiful.
I stared at it, solid in the cold outside, and remembered that God gifts strength in even the most fragile of figures.
icicle–i remember a friend of mine holding it like a baseball bat in hokkaido during our graduation trip in a part of nine girls. but the word icicle has a romantic feel, i think.
The icicle fell from the gutter and landed al;most perfectly into the snowbank. I plucked it out like a child taking a plum from a plum pie and inspected it.
Cold shoulder.
That’s all I’m getting from you.
And glass-grey eyes, staring back from photos that never change.
Icicle cold.
Frozen in time, making me wonder if I’m looking at the past or an impossible future.
The icicle was thick and stout. It had to be to hold Jared’s weight. No matter how much he moved, he couldn’t seem to dislodge himself from it. As it began to melt from his internal heat, he found himself slipping down it’s shaft. Before long, he would reach it’s base, and the wound it left behind would bleed out.
cold, eaves, dripping and formation. Beautiful in it crystalline structure. Catching the light and spreading joy. Winter’s jewelry. Nice to see. Great photographs.
It represents another form of beauty. The nature’s beauty. The nature’s mirror. It’s wonderful how something as simple as an icicle can be so beautiful and so magic. And with so many stories to tell.
She stared at the icicle that had formed outside her window, wondering how much snow had fallen the night before.
The room felt chilly and she burrowed down further into the covers. Scruffy hopped on the bed, meowed and touched her face with a fuzzy orange paw. His message was clear: Cold or not, breakfast must be served madame.
She sighed, then threw back the covers, shoved her feet into slippers and headed down the hall and into the kitchen. Scruffy met her there, his tail swishing back and forth against her ankles as she prepared his food.
“You fat furry pumpkin you. You’re the only reason I get up these days, you know that, right?”
Up from the ground or down from the sky…you can’t escape its impact. So sharp its smooth: confusion of pain is familiar after a few times its happened.
I watched the sunlight filter through my icy cold breath as I let out a long sigh. The icicles were starting to melt like popcicles. We had barely gotten through the blizzard last night, and the weather was getting warmer already. It wasn’t natural. We all knew we didn’t have much time. We had to get out of there soon.
icicles are beginning to form. they look so dangerous and so hurtful. but when you look more closely you see something beautiful. a drop of water created something so massive and lovely. each individual snowflake contributed to larger whole. it is something beautiful found in something so dangerous. maybe that means we can find something beautiful in all bad things…icicles aren’t just dangerous, but dangerously beautiful <3
Too bad this isn’t popsicle. I could write about popsicles. But icicle. Sucking icicles. Being perverted and licking/sucking icicles would be something I would do just to make people go O_O There. Does it count if it’s multiple icicle? As in icicles? :D
Icicles always reminded my of shiny, glassy knives hanging from the eaves. They grew from wind and water and somehow a dangerous weapon was born on my window. They were wither weapons or candy, I could never decide. Who doesn’t love sucking on an icicle?
A man on a crickety bycicle rode slowly by me. The sign in front of me was in german but I knew exactly what it meant. I walked in uncertain of my future.
She strung together icicles to wrap around her throat like a crystal collar, her fingers trembling in the cold and her breath making clouds in the air. She told me they are so much more precious than diamonds because they melt away to nothing. Such beautiful things are all the more precious if they aren’t permanent, she said.
Whenever we discuss the perfect murder, I always think of an icicle. A really big one. Sharp enough to kill and melts to dissolve fingerprints. Even better if you break one off in January and keep in your freezer until July, a la Calvin and Hobbes.
A little girl was walking around on a snowy day. She looked back at her footprints in the snow and smiled. She came up to a tree whose branches glistened with icicles. She broke one off and breathed on it. It was frozen solid, nothing would melt it. She then let it drop to the ground as a snowflake hit her nose lightly, making her shiver at the cold.
it was a cold night. he left her, standing there. she didn’t feel any remorse. what had to happen, happened. deep down she wanted to run after him screaming. screaming every little memory, every little beautiful thing about him. but she turned and went home.
Her eyes were icicles more violent than tricycles
Ridden by demons that couldn’t stop screamin’
She told me to stop talking and keep walking
So I did as I was told without feeling so bold
I stabbed him with an icicle. It was the only thing to use so that no-one would tell how he died. He deserved it though. I told him to come ice-skating with me. We skated all the way around the lake and when we were out of sight I stabbed him.
icicles are very fun in the winter. i love to jump up and grab them and use them to write in the snow or just suck on them. thats a little bit gross, i know. oh well though, i dont really care. i do it anyways. they are very yummy to me. and its something to do in the long minnesota winter.
Snapping an icicle from the rooftop, she licked away at it until she giggled as her tongue stuck to the frost. She let the ice dangle from her mouth for a moment. Two moments. Three moments. And then it dropped in a wet, soggy lump to the ground below.
“You’re silly,” I told her as I wrapped my arms around her. My face was scratchy against her scarf.
“You’re sillier,” she retorted before she kissed me.
It’s sharp and cold and everything we don’t want to see in this world. It’s like you, Ice and heat and hate and love and everything we really wish we didn’t have to look at. At the same time, though, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. So lovely that I can’t breathe each time I see your face. So stop it. Because you’re cold as ice, and we both no this is nothing but meltwater.
I wish we had snow in Florida. Then I would be able to see icicles form on the edge of our roof. I would be able to walk in the snow with someone I loved and share an Eskimo kiss.
The stabbing pain in his chest was not the worst of it. Nor the inability to catch his breath. The hardest part was accepting his failure, of having to return home to his hungry children empty handed. If only he hadn’t leaned so far into the freezer cabinet to get the biggest chicken and fallen on that icicle, everything would have been alright.
Frozen in space and time, I see the Machine’s central processing unit. Every other part has been restored and rebuilt a hundred times, but this has laid untouched for centuries. In fact, this is the first moment of civilization as we know it. Amazing.
Cold. Frozen, like your heart. Stabbing, like your tongue. Hanging precariously like the weight of all your wrongdoings. Icicles, like those you embedded in my skin. You are glass, frozen glass, temporary glass, melting, leaving me, leaving all of us.
The icicle was near breaking off the edge of the roof. I could see it before it fell. Had I not, it could have killed that kid. Instead it shattered into a million frozen pieces, all melting faster now that they weren’t together.
The Icicle reminds me of Winter which reminds me of Being cozy and drinking hot chocolate by the fire with your loved one, Icicle may be dangerous in some cases but they are usually very fun to lick .
cold object will kill watch out and its only in the winter .So be careful it just drops on your head > wwatch for inclines and roofs .
I love icicles. They are so sweet.
The icicle hung cold and crystalline from the tree outside my window. It refracted the light of the sun through the window, spreading a rainbow on my hardwood floors and across the couch.
Beautiful.
I stared at it, solid in the cold outside, and remembered that God gifts strength in even the most fragile of figures.
icicle–i remember a friend of mine holding it like a baseball bat in hokkaido during our graduation trip in a part of nine girls. but the word icicle has a romantic feel, i think.
Slick, clear nails.
Dreadlocks like daggers.
The weight of their fashion choices bringing trees to their knees.
The ice that forms in your veins runs deep to your heart, you cold cold bitch.
The icicle fell from the gutter and landed al;most perfectly into the snowbank. I plucked it out like a child taking a plum from a plum pie and inspected it.
Cold shoulder.
That’s all I’m getting from you.
And glass-grey eyes, staring back from photos that never change.
Icicle cold.
Frozen in time, making me wonder if I’m looking at the past or an impossible future.
The icicle was thick and stout. It had to be to hold Jared’s weight. No matter how much he moved, he couldn’t seem to dislodge himself from it. As it began to melt from his internal heat, he found himself slipping down it’s shaft. Before long, he would reach it’s base, and the wound it left behind would bleed out.
cold dripping and wonderous. magical and beautiful, sculptural and ethereal. nature’s beauty, G-d’s creation. delicate, whimsical and stunning.
cold, eaves, dripping and formation. Beautiful in it crystalline structure. Catching the light and spreading joy. Winter’s jewelry. Nice to see. Great photographs.
I shouldn’t have bitten on it, but I did. It slid down my throat, freezing my insides along the way.
Sharp and cold, it drips beads of memories one by one. Hanging from cars and trees, caves and noses. You pierce in so many ways.
A drop of water freezing over, forming an inverted triangle of a crystal. The icicle. Bow. WTF??
I.C.I.C.L.E.
I can’t include Connie Langhorne’s email.
It represents another form of beauty. The nature’s beauty. The nature’s mirror. It’s wonderful how something as simple as an icicle can be so beautiful and so magic. And with so many stories to tell.
She stared at the icicle that had formed outside her window, wondering how much snow had fallen the night before.
The room felt chilly and she burrowed down further into the covers. Scruffy hopped on the bed, meowed and touched her face with a fuzzy orange paw. His message was clear: Cold or not, breakfast must be served madame.
She sighed, then threw back the covers, shoved her feet into slippers and headed down the hall and into the kitchen. Scruffy met her there, his tail swishing back and forth against her ankles as she prepared his food.
“You fat furry pumpkin you. You’re the only reason I get up these days, you know that, right?”
Up from the ground or down from the sky…you can’t escape its impact. So sharp its smooth: confusion of pain is familiar after a few times its happened.
I watched the sunlight filter through my icy cold breath as I let out a long sigh. The icicles were starting to melt like popcicles. We had barely gotten through the blizzard last night, and the weather was getting warmer already. It wasn’t natural. We all knew we didn’t have much time. We had to get out of there soon.
icicles are beginning to form. they look so dangerous and so hurtful. but when you look more closely you see something beautiful. a drop of water created something so massive and lovely. each individual snowflake contributed to larger whole. it is something beautiful found in something so dangerous. maybe that means we can find something beautiful in all bad things…icicles aren’t just dangerous, but dangerously beautiful <3
Too bad this isn’t popsicle. I could write about popsicles. But icicle. Sucking icicles. Being perverted and licking/sucking icicles would be something I would do just to make people go O_O There. Does it count if it’s multiple icicle? As in icicles? :D
An icicle stick would do some good right now.
Icicles always reminded my of shiny, glassy knives hanging from the eaves. They grew from wind and water and somehow a dangerous weapon was born on my window. They were wither weapons or candy, I could never decide. Who doesn’t love sucking on an icicle?
A man on a crickety bycicle rode slowly by me. The sign in front of me was in german but I knew exactly what it meant. I walked in uncertain of my future.
She strung together icicles to wrap around her throat like a crystal collar, her fingers trembling in the cold and her breath making clouds in the air. She told me they are so much more precious than diamonds because they melt away to nothing. Such beautiful things are all the more precious if they aren’t permanent, she said.
Whenever we discuss the perfect murder, I always think of an icicle. A really big one. Sharp enough to kill and melts to dissolve fingerprints. Even better if you break one off in January and keep in your freezer until July, a la Calvin and Hobbes.
A little girl was walking around on a snowy day. She looked back at her footprints in the snow and smiled. She came up to a tree whose branches glistened with icicles. She broke one off and breathed on it. It was frozen solid, nothing would melt it. She then let it drop to the ground as a snowflake hit her nose lightly, making her shiver at the cold.
it was a cold night. he left her, standing there. she didn’t feel any remorse. what had to happen, happened. deep down she wanted to run after him screaming. screaming every little memory, every little beautiful thing about him. but she turned and went home.
Her eyes were icicles more violent than tricycles
Ridden by demons that couldn’t stop screamin’
She told me to stop talking and keep walking
So I did as I was told without feeling so bold
I stabbed him with an icicle. It was the only thing to use so that no-one would tell how he died. He deserved it though. I told him to come ice-skating with me. We skated all the way around the lake and when we were out of sight I stabbed him.
liquid silver, frozen just for our delight; a prism to see the winter in its beauty, best tasting water ever , gorgeous sculpture of God
icicles are very fun in the winter. i love to jump up and grab them and use them to write in the snow or just suck on them. thats a little bit gross, i know. oh well though, i dont really care. i do it anyways. they are very yummy to me. and its something to do in the long minnesota winter.
Snapping an icicle from the rooftop, she licked away at it until she giggled as her tongue stuck to the frost. She let the ice dangle from her mouth for a moment. Two moments. Three moments. And then it dropped in a wet, soggy lump to the ground below.
“You’re silly,” I told her as I wrapped my arms around her. My face was scratchy against her scarf.
“You’re sillier,” she retorted before she kissed me.