as i stand watching our house burn to the ground,
i can’t help but laugh at the thought of the incense in my sister’s
room and the irony of just how sweet it smells to lose precious memories.
it was so smelly. it stunk up the room. the owner had been burning incense incessantly through the month and now everything in the house smelled of the rancid odor. i could not imagine how anyone could live let alone get rid of that stench. it was that bad.
the smell of incense reminds me of my sisters. how much i love them, and how they never admit to loving me, they flinch away every time i try to hug them. i don’t know what i can do to fix myself so that they’ll like me more.
smell so sweet
it even smells good with stinky feet
i use it everyday
to take all the bad smells away
by Shelby Ashe/ kimberly.rushton@ncmail.net on 11.09.2009
smell so sweet
it even covers up stinky feet
you can use it everyday
to make the bad smells go away
sugar and spice
it smells so nice
by Alexandria Baysden/ xoxncchickoxo_10@hotmail.com on 11.09.2009
the smell is wonderful – drifting through the church, incensing some people, inspiring others – the priest, ah god the priest, with his ancient robes and his ancient rites – ah god, ah god said the irishman
The burning smell is strange and it’s weird and it’s not what you’re used to, this burning; the stars are still out and yet you can see the whole path ahead of you, so this is not dark, this is not day, this is fire.
Your fingers feel warm as you edge away from this incense.
Bobby Boswell broke up with his girlfriend from high school. He’d never not had a girl friend.
So he got on the greyhound, headed back to her, and the song playing was Incense and Peppermints and Being free was beyond him.
Incense. Intense. Ten cents. I walked to the store, pulling my coat tight around me. It was raining outside and my fingers felt like nothing but bone in the cold. I walked through the door of the store, the bell ringing when I pushed open the door. Faces looked up, peered over their own business to who had just joined them in the warm. I didn’t look back, just kept my face to the ground. I knew what I had to do.
the incense burned brightly as I considered my next move. up or over. my rook had a clear path to the queen, but it was a trap. I knew at least that much. I looked up, and she was smiling at me, one of those smiles that said she knew more than she said. “You’re move.”
The incense fumed in the corner, spitting off a small trail of smoke that wound into spirals filling the air. It trailed up and out, dancing through the oxygen, until it drifted into nothingness at the top of the room. The smell remained in the air, and it smelled like Shaddy; or did Shaddy smell like incense? Either or, it was a musty sort of pine that would have been ridiculous if on any other guy.
She smelled of incense and potpuri. It was the seventh night of her vigil and she was beginning to tire. Her friends had lost all contact with her and they were worried she may never return to normal. What happens if she doesn’t?
the smell of beatiful fragrances around the room giving a sense of relaxation and comfort seeing into a different realm trough the smoke and being able to reach out to those long gone from our world
incensitive is what I can smell when someone says incense. I dunno. My mother always loved incense. I dunno but I always attributed it to cigarette smoke on public transportation.
Sure rosewood or ash or god knows what else smells nice, but only to certain people damn it. Incensitive, I know.
A curl of smoke buckled through the air. I tried to quiet my thoughts. Empty my mind. Erase my day. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in – sweet wood, maybe the gentlest wisp of floral. Breathe out – still reeling from the workload, the traffic and the letter waiting to strike from the depths of the dark mailbox. Breathe in – perhaps a spice. Cinnamon? No, nutmeg. Ground nutmeg. Breathe out – I had recognised the handwriting in an instant. I hadn’t imagined I would ever see it again but it was as familiar as my own. Breathe in – a hot scent, smoky, calming. Familiar. Home. Breathe out – accept that words of anger are born from fear. Let go of old emotions dragged to the surface. Breathe in. Incense. Breathe out. Release.
In sense I see what the truth really means
That it was never meant to be
And the truth should set me free
But in truth and in sense
You were meant to be with she
And were always meant to cheat.
I do not realy know what incense might mean, but as any other words in the language it was created based on feelings and need to communicate the state of mind. when one person wants the other person to understand what the state is. Unfortunately, anyone telling me this word, would not be able to synchronize theiir mind with mine, since i do not know this word.
incensed. her eyes flared crimson as the walls crashed down, the project falling into bits. failure was never this concrete, and she knew someone had to pay for this after she paid them to do their job right.
they say witches survived the plague by burning incense and essential oils. I think it’s because no one wanted to speak to them and so people kept away. Isolation equals no plague.
The incense swirled around her as it filled the room with the smell of burnt cinnamon and vanilla. She paused and closed her eyes so she could take in the smell. It transported her to a time when she still believed in cooties and when she lived in a different house. Jumping on her bed and being called to dinner. Suddenly, her eyes flew open.
I was incensed at the way he was treating me. It was as though I had never meant anything to him, as though we had never been close, never touched, never kissed. His eyes were cold, his manners worse. Then I realized. He doesn’t remember. He can’t. He wouldn’t act like this if he did.
Incense burned up in the room, filling it up with a wonderful smell. Well, Lily didn’t think it was that wonderful, actually. In truth, she was actually suffocating because of it. But Bryan liked it, so she smiled and pretended that it made the room more romantic, like he intended it to.
The insence smelt sweetly in the dark room. A lady in a cape sat in the middle of the room. “Come in.” She said. I wasn’t sure about entering but did that enthralled by the smell of the sweet incense.
My dad never let me burn incense in my room. Said it would stick up the place and the smoke is bad to inhale. The latter part may be true, but I think he hates it because he thought I was doing witchcraft. It’s not true at all, I just love the smell of “sex on the beech” and “chinese rain”
as i stand watching our house burn to the ground,
i can’t help but laugh at the thought of the incense in my sister’s
room and the irony of just how sweet it smells to lose precious memories.
The smell of Patchouli drifted through the room amidst the beer cans, bong, scattered magazines and albums. She thought she’d never get home.
it was so smelly. it stunk up the room. the owner had been burning incense incessantly through the month and now everything in the house smelled of the rancid odor. i could not imagine how anyone could live let alone get rid of that stench. it was that bad.
the smell of incense reminds me of my sisters. how much i love them, and how they never admit to loving me, they flinch away every time i try to hug them. i don’t know what i can do to fix myself so that they’ll like me more.
smell so sweet
it even smells good with stinky feet
i use it everyday
to take all the bad smells away
smell so sweet
it even covers up stinky feet
you can use it everyday
to make the bad smells go away
sugar and spice
it smells so nice
the smell is wonderful – drifting through the church, incensing some people, inspiring others – the priest, ah god the priest, with his ancient robes and his ancient rites – ah god, ah god said the irishman
The burning smell is strange and it’s weird and it’s not what you’re used to, this burning; the stars are still out and yet you can see the whole path ahead of you, so this is not dark, this is not day, this is fire.
Your fingers feel warm as you edge away from this incense.
Bobby Boswell broke up with his girlfriend from high school. He’d never not had a girl friend.
So he got on the greyhound, headed back to her, and the song playing was Incense and Peppermints and Being free was beyond him.
Incense. Intense. Ten cents. I walked to the store, pulling my coat tight around me. It was raining outside and my fingers felt like nothing but bone in the cold. I walked through the door of the store, the bell ringing when I pushed open the door. Faces looked up, peered over their own business to who had just joined them in the warm. I didn’t look back, just kept my face to the ground. I knew what I had to do.
I walked into the room and smelled the incense
the incense burned brightly as I considered my next move. up or over. my rook had a clear path to the queen, but it was a trap. I knew at least that much. I looked up, and she was smiling at me, one of those smiles that said she knew more than she said. “You’re move.”
The incense fumed in the corner, spitting off a small trail of smoke that wound into spirals filling the air. It trailed up and out, dancing through the oxygen, until it drifted into nothingness at the top of the room. The smell remained in the air, and it smelled like Shaddy; or did Shaddy smell like incense? Either or, it was a musty sort of pine that would have been ridiculous if on any other guy.
Incense
innocence
intelligence
nonsense
smoke is what fills the air
and smoke blurs people’s sight of truth.
She smelled of incense and potpuri. It was the seventh night of her vigil and she was beginning to tire. Her friends had lost all contact with her and they were worried she may never return to normal. What happens if she doesn’t?
my dad took me in his hands and loved me gently
the smell of beatiful fragrances around the room giving a sense of relaxation and comfort seeing into a different realm trough the smoke and being able to reach out to those long gone from our world
i inhaled and the subtle scent of sandalwood crept into my nose. he was close to me, so close. my heart beat quicker, my breath faltered in my throat.
the whole room, whole situation. it was powerful.
incensitive is what I can smell when someone says incense. I dunno. My mother always loved incense. I dunno but I always attributed it to cigarette smoke on public transportation.
Sure rosewood or ash or god knows what else smells nice, but only to certain people damn it. Incensitive, I know.
A curl of smoke buckled through the air. I tried to quiet my thoughts. Empty my mind. Erase my day. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in – sweet wood, maybe the gentlest wisp of floral. Breathe out – still reeling from the workload, the traffic and the letter waiting to strike from the depths of the dark mailbox. Breathe in – perhaps a spice. Cinnamon? No, nutmeg. Ground nutmeg. Breathe out – I had recognised the handwriting in an instant. I hadn’t imagined I would ever see it again but it was as familiar as my own. Breathe in – a hot scent, smoky, calming. Familiar. Home. Breathe out – accept that words of anger are born from fear. Let go of old emotions dragged to the surface. Breathe in. Incense. Breathe out. Release.
It was odd scent. Her house seemed to always be filled with the scent of cinnamon, vanilla and cigarette smoke. Yet she never baked or smoked…
In sense I see what the truth really means
That it was never meant to be
And the truth should set me free
But in truth and in sense
You were meant to be with she
And were always meant to cheat.
you glow,
nostrils filling
with dizzying light
fall, and faint
I do not realy know what incense might mean, but as any other words in the language it was created based on feelings and need to communicate the state of mind. when one person wants the other person to understand what the state is. Unfortunately, anyone telling me this word, would not be able to synchronize theiir mind with mine, since i do not know this word.
incensed. her eyes flared crimson as the walls crashed down, the project falling into bits. failure was never this concrete, and she knew someone had to pay for this after she paid them to do their job right.
incense burns and fills the air with smoke
clouding my judgment
burning my lungs
choke choke choke
cough
the incense hung heavy in the air as i stepped into the room, looking for my love, where was he?
love sex joy enjoying loving smelly romance wee poo nipples godddess joy loving coolness lovecats cats willy penis boobies goddess lol
they say witches survived the plague by burning incense and essential oils. I think it’s because no one wanted to speak to them and so people kept away. Isolation equals no plague.
The incense swirled around her as it filled the room with the smell of burnt cinnamon and vanilla. She paused and closed her eyes so she could take in the smell. It transported her to a time when she still believed in cooties and when she lived in a different house. Jumping on her bed and being called to dinner. Suddenly, her eyes flew open.
it was moonless night, and it was heavy.
infusing aromas of divine delicate scents of moodiness & passion, smudging, invoking air element,
yummy cloud…
burn slowly and let escape the whispers of the often-shades.
we see them, yes. yet, we know they are gone.
I was incensed at the way he was treating me. It was as though I had never meant anything to him, as though we had never been close, never touched, never kissed. His eyes were cold, his manners worse. Then I realized. He doesn’t remember. He can’t. He wouldn’t act like this if he did.
Incense burned up in the room, filling it up with a wonderful smell. Well, Lily didn’t think it was that wonderful, actually. In truth, she was actually suffocating because of it. But Bryan liked it, so she smiled and pretended that it made the room more romantic, like he intended it to.
The insence smelt sweetly in the dark room. A lady in a cape sat in the middle of the room. “Come in.” She said. I wasn’t sure about entering but did that enthralled by the smell of the sweet incense.
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My dad never let me burn incense in my room. Said it would stick up the place and the smoke is bad to inhale. The latter part may be true, but I think he hates it because he thought I was doing witchcraft. It’s not true at all, I just love the smell of “sex on the beech” and “chinese rain”
a thin tendril
evanescent
your warm breath
incese