knock knock knock
the repeating sound rapping at the wooden door set his heart beating like a hummingbirds wings. it aggravated him and he wanted to rip the door off its hinges and beat the person with it afterwards. but he just sat with his hands over his ears and waited for the knocking to cease.
knock knock who’s there…nobody ever is and a knock after knock i never get an answer and i don’t know why but i still find myself at the same fucking door hit the same beat so ingrained in my wrist movements.
She knocked at the door. One, two, pause, three, four, five. A simple rhythm that granted access to so many secret places. No one would remember her, no one would recognize her later. She was just the middleman; it was the goods they were interested in, not her.
Sleep is a beautiful thing. It can bring relaxation both to the body and to the mind, and when things are going poorly, sleep brings a break from life which can sometimes be desired by the less fortunate. Yes, sleep can unquestionably be the best thing on the planet, yet it can be interrupted by a simple /knock/.
knock on the door. it’s beginning. each and every opportunity in life stars with a knock. a simple rapping, a deafening pounding. something in between. it’s a start of a new life, a new chapter, and with it the world opens to a whole new realm.
A knock on the door woke the sleeping girl. “Who could that be?”
She opened the door, and there was Katie. Like the last 7 years were all a dream, and Sarah was 11 again. Her sister was finally back.
Sarah backed away, eyes wide and shaking her head. Her already pale face was ashen now, and her heart beat was tripled with fear.
“You can’t be here…. You can’t be real…” Sarah was shaking by this point. Her back collided with the wall- she could get no further. “This isn’t happening…”
There were three even knocks on my door. I stood back nervously and my dad rose to answer it instead. He didn’t appear nervous, but I knew him and saw the way he walked stiff and stretched his hands as he moved toward the door. He looked back at me and forced a smile, to me he looked on the verge of tears. He then swung the door opened and the younger man outside looked obviously nervous as he reached out to shake his hand.
The knock on the door has frighten me.
There are more noises as I walk to the door.
I try to figure it out before I open it.
It’s too late I am in front of it.
I open the door.
A knock at the door. It usually means the maintenance man is here to fix another problem that will magically disappear the moment he walks through the door. But, sometimes, it’s easy to wish it would be a knock that could change your life. Someone presenting you with a big check or the opportunity of a lifetime or something. Or just someone you miss.
The wind knocked over the glass from the table. It shattered and sent shards underneath the refridgerator. years later, when the fridge died and was moved out, worker randy got a nasty cut in his arch. You often don’t think of your arch as something that can hurt, but when you wear shoes with a cut arch, it does. He couldn’t walk right for ways, and soon it became infected. Now randy’s doctor was old fashioned and dealt with sickness and wounds by using leeches. Unfortunately for randy putting a leech on his foot didn’t help the cause. He started to feel weak after the leach was on too long.
I heard a knock on the door and I looked through the peep hole. it was the god damn girl scouts with their cookies. I am on a diet. I am trying to be thin. I want to not exist and I want you to go away. don’t ever knock on my door again.
She’s knocks on the door like she’s there just for that. Just to bang her soft but hard knuckles on my wooden door but no, that’s not what she’s here for, thankfully. She’s here for me. She’s here for me to hold her while she cries and for me to love her.
There wasn’t much room. I could feel the dirt beneath my nails, the dust in my longs, the quivering of my lips, my shallow breathes, the sweet beads forming above my lip, and then I heard the knock. I was discovered.
Gee, that was a knock to my confidence. Man oh man, I really thought I had that one. Oh well, maybe next time! [he deflates into a sigh. slumps his shoulders]. …May-be next time.
Knock on the thick mahogany door
and
wait.
Suspended in the dust-distilled air of the waiting room. Trapped- static- in a vial of velvet-green chairs and motes of light. Everything is still. Everything is motionless. You wait on.
Point man gave the signal, a “knock-knock” motion on the air. The last man moved to the front of the stack, in front of the door. He lifted his M-4, hands on the trigger of the underslung shotgun, the proverbial “Master Key.” This was going to be one hell of a knock.
“Haven’t we been here before?” he asked. Our knock on the door had found no response.
The house was silent, as were the other houses we had tried in the street. Looking into the hallway though the small pane in the door, fleeting patterns of sunlight from a far window gave the illusion of movement, almost like a resting heartbeat.
“Shall we try the next one?” I asked. I moved down the path, not expecting an answer.
There was a sharp knocking at the front door. Jessica rose from her seat and, though terrified, slowly moved toward the sound. “Who is it?” she called, her voice sounding tinny and far away. There was a continued thick silence in the air.
Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door. That’s the song – but why’d you knock? You know you’re welcome in heaven if you’re already there. Can you see the door? Yeah? Then go in. Greet the people you know and miss and that you haven’t seen for a while.
I heard the footsteps landing heavily on the wood floor outside. Somehow she had gotten in, and I could tell from the determination behind every trespassing step that she had no intention on leaving.
She heard a knocking at the door and opened it to emptiness. She heard a knocking at the window and glanced to see the nothingness of night. She heard a knocking in her chest and curled inward, listening to the flight of her heart.
i woke up when i heard the knock on the wall. it was also on the ceiling, on the floor, on the door. the knock was everywhere. inside my head, by my pillow, it knocked to the rhythm of my heart. it made me feel so hollow inside.
When I knocked at the door I saw the flowers next to the porch had not been watered for some time. Hesitant now, I knocked again, this time louder, but slower, more tentative. It felt as if those knocks echoed across the small driveway.
Knock.
Knock.
Here it goes again and I hide bhind the curtains praying that it will stop.
Knock.
Knock.
Why won’t they leave me alone?
Why won’t they leave?
Knock.
Knock.
I’m not here.
I never was.
They should just give up.
The last time he had managed to write something, had been four weeks ago. Four weeks and two days, to be exact. Four weeks and two days of blank, empty hours spent looking at the same mockingly white page. He was the paper type: his friends often laughed at him for this, but he was definitely a screwup with computers, and he absolutely couldn’t write his ideas looking at a screen. Trouble was, it now looked like he couldn’t write, full stop. Paper or not paper, he simply couldn’t find any more ideas. Writer block had struck him in full force and he was at a loss to snap out of it.
And then, finally, in the midst of a nightmares ridden night, inspiration decided it was time to pay him a visit, and knocked at his door. He jerked awake, excited, immediately got up and, heedless of his disheveled aspect, he sat at his desk, grabbing his favourite pen, an old fountain pen his brother had brought him from New York years ago.
He smiled: his thoughts were ready to be written down.
Knock knock.. who is it? It is somebody you would never expect to see. From your life it is hard to believe who wouşd come to see you and why.. It is simply he loves you.
knock on wood for good luck but not more than three times because then a monster will come out from under your bed when you’re trying to count sheep even though you realize that doesn’t work and you get frustrated because you realize that thinking about farm animals doesn’t make you tired it just gives you anxiety so when you finally get to sleep you have scary dreams about barnyards and wake up and not realize why you don’t want to eat bacon for breakfast or eggs for that matter because they are an animal bi product or just dead baby chickens I’m not even sure what they are because I always thought they were dead baby chickens or maybe there are chicken eggs and then breakfast eggs like how there is syrup that gets on your hands when you climb trees and syrup that you put on your pancakes
They are coming out from the corners. Knocking on the barrier I put up. Don’t touch this foundation, this is what gets me through. Why is your curiosity so strong? There’s nothing I have for you, knock no more on my defenses. I need this strength. I’ve been through too much without tears. Just let me keep standing. If you keep caring I’ll continue to break.
Knock on the door knock with your shoos the knock of angels is the knock of your muse. Like clapton pounding his fists to the ground seeking foor heavenly doors to come round. Knock me off my feet before you leap the streak of your faithess endeavors. They knock our socks off with their terrible ways. So come on knockin baby before you get knocked away.
Knock Knock? Who’s there? Universe thumps a reply. Yeah, I’ve been knocked down but I’ll get up again…(you’re never going to keep me down) It’s a hard knock life for us… Knock-kneed I venture forward. Knock knock? Is anyone there? Really, is anyone there? Said the traveller, knocking on the moonlit door….
The weed that withered in the shadow of the barn
surprised took life when your sun chose to shine.
Too soon the clouds took over the sky and the buds barely blooming took cover.
Knock brings a lot of things to mind. knock-knock jokes. a hard-knock life. the school of hard knocks. knock-knees. Also, the word itself is a practice in the reading of- what is that word again? the one that refers to two vowels that make up one sound? KN and CK are examples. I love the word for that. Damn. what is that word? Oh well. Knock knock. Who’s there, you ask? Banana…and on and on and on. Our first joke. Aren’t knock-knock jokes our very first? our foray into comedy. our foray into making people laugh. the first of a lifetime of making people happy by supplying laughter, hopefully.
knock who’s there? no one is answering, but there is knocking. is this heaven’s door? do you see pearly gates and clouds?? no. is it edgar allen poe’s door? are you a bird? no. kindly begone from my step.
knock knock knock
the repeating sound rapping at the wooden door set his heart beating like a hummingbirds wings. it aggravated him and he wanted to rip the door off its hinges and beat the person with it afterwards. but he just sat with his hands over his ears and waited for the knocking to cease.
knock knock who’s there…nobody ever is and a knock after knock i never get an answer and i don’t know why but i still find myself at the same fucking door hit the same beat so ingrained in my wrist movements.
She knocked at the door. One, two, pause, three, four, five. A simple rhythm that granted access to so many secret places. No one would remember her, no one would recognize her later. She was just the middleman; it was the goods they were interested in, not her.
Sleep is a beautiful thing. It can bring relaxation both to the body and to the mind, and when things are going poorly, sleep brings a break from life which can sometimes be desired by the less fortunate. Yes, sleep can unquestionably be the best thing on the planet, yet it can be interrupted by a simple /knock/.
knock on the door. it’s beginning. each and every opportunity in life stars with a knock. a simple rapping, a deafening pounding. something in between. it’s a start of a new life, a new chapter, and with it the world opens to a whole new realm.
A knock on the door woke the sleeping girl. “Who could that be?”
She opened the door, and there was Katie. Like the last 7 years were all a dream, and Sarah was 11 again. Her sister was finally back.
Sarah backed away, eyes wide and shaking her head. Her already pale face was ashen now, and her heart beat was tripled with fear.
“You can’t be here…. You can’t be real…” Sarah was shaking by this point. Her back collided with the wall- she could get no further. “This isn’t happening…”
There were three even knocks on my door. I stood back nervously and my dad rose to answer it instead. He didn’t appear nervous, but I knew him and saw the way he walked stiff and stretched his hands as he moved toward the door. He looked back at me and forced a smile, to me he looked on the verge of tears. He then swung the door opened and the younger man outside looked obviously nervous as he reached out to shake his hand.
I dont want to knock what theyre doing but its really not what i want to
I mean you shouldnt knock it if you havent tried it
or at least try not to knock it over or over a teen ox
need mock dont no clocks.
“Knock, knock!”
“No, Charlie.”
“Oh, c’mon. Knock, knock.”
“…who’s there?”
“Tom!”
“Tom who?”
“Tom from high school chemistry class! I want to have wild, passionate sex with you!”
“…Um.”
“No, seriously, he said that. On Facebook and everything.”
“…What.”
“Yeah, Sammy! He did! You want I should speak with him?”
“No, I want I should kill him.”
The knock on the door has frighten me.
There are more noises as I walk to the door.
I try to figure it out before I open it.
It’s too late I am in front of it.
I open the door.
Someone is knocking at the door. Dare I answer it? I’m not sure if I want to let anyone in to my thoughts or my emotions. I’m not sure.
Knock
not sure
Knock knock
A knock at the door. It usually means the maintenance man is here to fix another problem that will magically disappear the moment he walks through the door. But, sometimes, it’s easy to wish it would be a knock that could change your life. Someone presenting you with a big check or the opportunity of a lifetime or something. Or just someone you miss.
The wind knocked over the glass from the table. It shattered and sent shards underneath the refridgerator. years later, when the fridge died and was moved out, worker randy got a nasty cut in his arch. You often don’t think of your arch as something that can hurt, but when you wear shoes with a cut arch, it does. He couldn’t walk right for ways, and soon it became infected. Now randy’s doctor was old fashioned and dealt with sickness and wounds by using leeches. Unfortunately for randy putting a leech on his foot didn’t help the cause. He started to feel weak after the leach was on too long.
Knock, knock, knock upon a heart
And be met by metal clangs
Brick walls built high and strong
That forever will deny you
For never will you reach
This pearl within its clam
For as long as they shall live
Upon earth so appalling
I heard a knock on the door and I looked through the peep hole. it was the god damn girl scouts with their cookies. I am on a diet. I am trying to be thin. I want to not exist and I want you to go away. don’t ever knock on my door again.
She’s knocks on the door like she’s there just for that. Just to bang her soft but hard knuckles on my wooden door but no, that’s not what she’s here for, thankfully. She’s here for me. She’s here for me to hold her while she cries and for me to love her.
There wasn’t much room. I could feel the dirt beneath my nails, the dust in my longs, the quivering of my lips, my shallow breathes, the sweet beads forming above my lip, and then I heard the knock. I was discovered.
Gee, that was a knock to my confidence. Man oh man, I really thought I had that one. Oh well, maybe next time! [he deflates into a sigh. slumps his shoulders]. …May-be next time.
Knock on the thick mahogany door
and
wait.
Suspended in the dust-distilled air of the waiting room. Trapped- static- in a vial of velvet-green chairs and motes of light. Everything is still. Everything is motionless. You wait on.
Point man gave the signal, a “knock-knock” motion on the air. The last man moved to the front of the stack, in front of the door. He lifted his M-4, hands on the trigger of the underslung shotgun, the proverbial “Master Key.” This was going to be one hell of a knock.
“Haven’t we been here before?” he asked. Our knock on the door had found no response.
The house was silent, as were the other houses we had tried in the street. Looking into the hallway though the small pane in the door, fleeting patterns of sunlight from a far window gave the illusion of movement, almost like a resting heartbeat.
“Shall we try the next one?” I asked. I moved down the path, not expecting an answer.
There was a sharp knocking at the front door. Jessica rose from her seat and, though terrified, slowly moved toward the sound. “Who is it?” she called, her voice sounding tinny and far away. There was a continued thick silence in the air.
I knocked on the door knowing one of us would die. It was her or me, I had to do it. it was an urge. a dark need. I had to kill her. I know
Empathy is a soft sword
a knock on jelly
a whispered, whimsical word
the butter on belly
Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door. That’s the song – but why’d you knock? You know you’re welcome in heaven if you’re already there. Can you see the door? Yeah? Then go in. Greet the people you know and miss and that you haven’t seen for a while.
I heard the footsteps landing heavily on the wood floor outside. Somehow she had gotten in, and I could tell from the determination behind every trespassing step that she had no intention on leaving.
I quickly scanned the room for potential weapons.
Teddy bears.
Unicorns.
Nothing.
Why couldn’t I be in G.I. Joe’s.
She heard a knocking at the door and opened it to emptiness. She heard a knocking at the window and glanced to see the nothingness of night. She heard a knocking in her chest and curled inward, listening to the flight of her heart.
i woke up when i heard the knock on the wall. it was also on the ceiling, on the floor, on the door. the knock was everywhere. inside my head, by my pillow, it knocked to the rhythm of my heart. it made me feel so hollow inside.
When I knocked at the door I saw the flowers next to the porch had not been watered for some time. Hesitant now, I knocked again, this time louder, but slower, more tentative. It felt as if those knocks echoed across the small driveway.
Knock.
Knock.
Here it goes again and I hide bhind the curtains praying that it will stop.
Knock.
Knock.
Why won’t they leave me alone?
Why won’t they leave?
Knock.
Knock.
I’m not here.
I never was.
They should just give up.
The last time he had managed to write something, had been four weeks ago. Four weeks and two days, to be exact. Four weeks and two days of blank, empty hours spent looking at the same mockingly white page. He was the paper type: his friends often laughed at him for this, but he was definitely a screwup with computers, and he absolutely couldn’t write his ideas looking at a screen. Trouble was, it now looked like he couldn’t write, full stop. Paper or not paper, he simply couldn’t find any more ideas. Writer block had struck him in full force and he was at a loss to snap out of it.
And then, finally, in the midst of a nightmares ridden night, inspiration decided it was time to pay him a visit, and knocked at his door. He jerked awake, excited, immediately got up and, heedless of his disheveled aspect, he sat at his desk, grabbing his favourite pen, an old fountain pen his brother had brought him from New York years ago.
He smiled: his thoughts were ready to be written down.
Knock knock.. who is it? It is somebody you would never expect to see. From your life it is hard to believe who wouşd come to see you and why.. It is simply he loves you.
knock on wood for good luck but not more than three times because then a monster will come out from under your bed when you’re trying to count sheep even though you realize that doesn’t work and you get frustrated because you realize that thinking about farm animals doesn’t make you tired it just gives you anxiety so when you finally get to sleep you have scary dreams about barnyards and wake up and not realize why you don’t want to eat bacon for breakfast or eggs for that matter because they are an animal bi product or just dead baby chickens I’m not even sure what they are because I always thought they were dead baby chickens or maybe there are chicken eggs and then breakfast eggs like how there is syrup that gets on your hands when you climb trees and syrup that you put on your pancakes
They are coming out from the corners. Knocking on the barrier I put up. Don’t touch this foundation, this is what gets me through. Why is your curiosity so strong? There’s nothing I have for you, knock no more on my defenses. I need this strength. I’ve been through too much without tears. Just let me keep standing. If you keep caring I’ll continue to break.
Knock on the door knock with your shoos the knock of angels is the knock of your muse. Like clapton pounding his fists to the ground seeking foor heavenly doors to come round. Knock me off my feet before you leap the streak of your faithess endeavors. They knock our socks off with their terrible ways. So come on knockin baby before you get knocked away.
Knock Knock? Who’s there? Universe thumps a reply. Yeah, I’ve been knocked down but I’ll get up again…(you’re never going to keep me down) It’s a hard knock life for us… Knock-kneed I venture forward. Knock knock? Is anyone there? Really, is anyone there? Said the traveller, knocking on the moonlit door….
Knock Knock
Don’t open
Knock Knock
Go away
The weed that withered in the shadow of the barn
surprised took life when your sun chose to shine.
Too soon the clouds took over the sky and the buds barely blooming took cover.
Knock brings a lot of things to mind. knock-knock jokes. a hard-knock life. the school of hard knocks. knock-knees. Also, the word itself is a practice in the reading of- what is that word again? the one that refers to two vowels that make up one sound? KN and CK are examples. I love the word for that. Damn. what is that word? Oh well. Knock knock. Who’s there, you ask? Banana…and on and on and on. Our first joke. Aren’t knock-knock jokes our very first? our foray into comedy. our foray into making people laugh. the first of a lifetime of making people happy by supplying laughter, hopefully.
knock who’s there? no one is answering, but there is knocking. is this heaven’s door? do you see pearly gates and clouds?? no. is it edgar allen poe’s door? are you a bird? no. kindly begone from my step.