holing up its raininggggggggggggggggggggg the rainnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn is really cold and i need to jump in the puddles to rinse my shoes offffffffffffffffff then soak my bystanding friends XD
She said that if I said one more word to her, that my name would be mud. She didn’t mention that I would also be buried in that mud. Up to my chin, to be exact. Yeah, any minute now, she’ll start again and cover the rest of my head.
mud pies are quite a let down. it gives you the idea that maybe it’s like a cup of worm where there is crushed oreoes or some other form of delicious cookie with pudding and worms. but no mud pies are just mud pies and you can not consume them. sigh. now i am quite hungry.
Mud is brown and not good for much. Or so you would think!! Turns out mud has all kinds of practical uses. Not limited to making houses, throwing at people, and also as a name for some jackass who did something stupid. Im sure theres a story behind that but I only have sixty damn seconds.
Thunderclouds made of mud are descending on the airport. I see them on the horizon line; bulbous brown monsters swelling and spreading as far as we can see. The passengers are standing at the window, talking about how we will ever take off in this thick storm. We won’t, says the lady at the console.
The dark, fertile mud squished between my toes. Years of city living erased this simple pleasure from my mind. On vacation, no where to go, nothing to do. I may just sit here all day squishing mud between my tired toes.
Dark dirty circle. Brought together by the rain above. The dirt takes it in and they become one. To most, it is an inconvenience, but to me, it is beauty perfected.
The rain had stopped. I needed to take a walk to clear my mind. Before I knew it, I was in front of his house. He walked out and I stepped in a muddy puddle. He laughed. I never walked past his house again.
in my earlier years, i was quite profoundly conserned with the outcome of my descisions. the mud in my shoes had grown thick from pacing back and forth through the swamp called life.
She gasped as she hit the mud, the dirty brown liquid splashing onto her white tunic. she looked up, glaring at the taller woman holding the bright silver blade to her throat, her golden armor glinting despite the rain that poured around them.
“Did you miss me?” She said with a smirk, raising the sword for the fatal blow.
feels stuck,
like i can’t get up.
i am held down,
losing my willpower,
my drive has fled.
then she walks past,
and sees me wallowing in self pity.
and lends a hand for me to pull my self out on.
she saves me.
I can’t believe I’m covered in the mess
Can’t wash you off me.
At first it was so soothing and cool,
but it has become cracked and dry
Harsh and gritty
I already wrote about mud and how it was like the blood I had spilled today – but someone hacked into the computer and took all the files. Now I have nothing left. Nothing but myself to blame for everything that has happened to me in the past 24 hours. Soon I will be discovered and there will be nothing more left of me. Just memories. And faint ones at that.
Wiping the mud from his boots, Ezio stepped into the room proper. It wouldn’t do any good to track it across the fine marble floor.
Looking to his left he smiled, seeing a half-finished painting. Leonardo had been working on something. As he stepped over to get a closer look, the artist wandered back into the room with a small tray containing a chunk of bread and–
The mud underneath my soles was thick, like blood. The same blood that I had spilled minutes before stepping into this – this – CRAP! I swore, I shouted, I screamed and went a little crazy before I stomped my feet and splattered mud all over my new jeans.
Mud. It is nice. It is made from rain and dirt. You can play in it. Make mud pies, mud cakes, pretend to bake. Makes me think of my childhood. Mud is fun. I like mud.
Mud? You tell me that after chances
I have only failed in you’re eyes
Keep me frozen in time
Like yesterday never passed.
I obviously never change
I you and me have stayed the same.
How dare you.
its very brown and disgusting but when i was little i used to make mud pie and even ate one once which is gross but i think all kids did that really because being outside is good :)
The mud covered nicely over the big, thick tires that held my Silverado perfectly. I loved the truck, but my girlfriend hardely agreed with me keeping it. Which meant putting it for sale, and therefore – breaking my heart.
Yellow rain boots hopped in the brown muck. The children had dreaded the summer weather, but now they were satisfied. Getting dirty in the mud was a rare luxury to the kids on Maple Street, and they were having fun in the soggy treasure.
I slip in the mud until I can’t feel my feet under me. It’s a much better way to spend an afternoon than sitting at my desk doing work. And now I wonder why adults don’t do it more often.
mud is yucccky. then again all it is is wet dirt… but then again dirt is yucky too. I mean mud makes everything dirty ( ironic cause it’s dirt in wet form!) ha dirt is yucccky. mud makes dogs paws icky too.
i want to wrestle in the mud. its so fun. its so messy. its so… so… sexy. i feel like mud wrestling with someone sexy would lead to sex. i want sex. so i guess i want some mud.
her silken body caressed through the pool of mud and she turned into an animal. Scraping trails of wet dirt across her skin. trying to cover every inch before the trackers got here. Soon they would be scavenging the villages looking for traces of life and she didnt want to become one of their slaves. That was no life.
Mud. Das ist ein Mund, dem ein n fehlt. Mudo. Stumm. Da gibs nichts mehr zu sagen. Worte fehlen. Buchstaben fehlen. Weggerutscht. Zu schnell geschrieben. Abgelutscht, das Stück Eis. Zunge verkühlt. Unbeweglich. Kein n mehr da.
I hated mud when I was a child. I used to get covered in it after every recess. It became an accessory to my outfit, much to my mother’s disapproval. It rained so much in CH. I couldn’t help it if I wanted to.
holing up its raininggggggggggggggggggggg the rainnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn is really cold and i need to jump in the puddles to rinse my shoes offffffffffffffffff then soak my bystanding friends XD
She said that if I said one more word to her, that my name would be mud. She didn’t mention that I would also be buried in that mud. Up to my chin, to be exact. Yeah, any minute now, she’ll start again and cover the rest of my head.
mud pies are quite a let down. it gives you the idea that maybe it’s like a cup of worm where there is crushed oreoes or some other form of delicious cookie with pudding and worms. but no mud pies are just mud pies and you can not consume them. sigh. now i am quite hungry.
it clung every where as the two made their way through the swamp swatting at bugs and trying to focus on why they were there in the first place.
ariana turned to helios.
I just swallowed a lot of mud, Don’t ask how. I don’t even want to know how..
mud
It’s dirty. It gets on your clothes. My name is Mudd. That derives from Abe Lincoln’s worst day. I was framed.
Mud is brown and not good for much. Or so you would think!! Turns out mud has all kinds of practical uses. Not limited to making houses, throwing at people, and also as a name for some jackass who did something stupid. Im sure theres a story behind that but I only have sixty damn seconds.
Thunderclouds made of mud are descending on the airport. I see them on the horizon line; bulbous brown monsters swelling and spreading as far as we can see. The passengers are standing at the window, talking about how we will ever take off in this thick storm. We won’t, says the lady at the console.
The dark, fertile mud squished between my toes. Years of city living erased this simple pleasure from my mind. On vacation, no where to go, nothing to do. I may just sit here all day squishing mud between my tired toes.
Dark dirty circle. Brought together by the rain above. The dirt takes it in and they become one. To most, it is an inconvenience, but to me, it is beauty perfected.
The rain had stopped. I needed to take a walk to clear my mind. Before I knew it, I was in front of his house. He walked out and I stepped in a muddy puddle. He laughed. I never walked past his house again.
in my earlier years, i was quite profoundly conserned with the outcome of my descisions. the mud in my shoes had grown thick from pacing back and forth through the swamp called life.
She gasped as she hit the mud, the dirty brown liquid splashing onto her white tunic. she looked up, glaring at the taller woman holding the bright silver blade to her throat, her golden armor glinting despite the rain that poured around them.
“Did you miss me?” She said with a smirk, raising the sword for the fatal blow.
feels stuck,
like i can’t get up.
i am held down,
losing my willpower,
my drive has fled.
then she walks past,
and sees me wallowing in self pity.
and lends a hand for me to pull my self out on.
she saves me.
I can’t believe I’m covered in the mess
Can’t wash you off me.
At first it was so soothing and cool,
but it has become cracked and dry
Harsh and gritty
Can’t wash you off me.
What do I do?
I already wrote about mud and how it was like the blood I had spilled today – but someone hacked into the computer and took all the files. Now I have nothing left. Nothing but myself to blame for everything that has happened to me in the past 24 hours. Soon I will be discovered and there will be nothing more left of me. Just memories. And faint ones at that.
Wiping the mud from his boots, Ezio stepped into the room proper. It wouldn’t do any good to track it across the fine marble floor.
Looking to his left he smiled, seeing a half-finished painting. Leonardo had been working on something. As he stepped over to get a closer look, the artist wandered back into the room with a small tray containing a chunk of bread and–
I can’t believe this.
In the moment it was perfect,
The hurt would be worth it.
Here you are again with the upper hand.
And my feet are stuck to cement.
I’m so tired, baby
let me sleep, please
From the mud emerges a bud who rises from the earth a flower.
The mud underneath my soles was thick, like blood. The same blood that I had spilled minutes before stepping into this – this – CRAP! I swore, I shouted, I screamed and went a little crazy before I stomped my feet and splattered mud all over my new jeans.
Mud. It is nice. It is made from rain and dirt. You can play in it. Make mud pies, mud cakes, pretend to bake. Makes me think of my childhood. Mud is fun. I like mud.
Mud? You tell me that after chances
I have only failed in you’re eyes
Keep me frozen in time
Like yesterday never passed.
I obviously never change
I you and me have stayed the same.
How dare you.
“It’s fine guys,” he told us. “It’s just mud,” he told us. “Follow me,” he told us.
We yelled unmercifully at him as we all sank to our deaths, trapped in the sinking mud, unable to flee.
The mud was thick with great big globs of bone and flesh. She had been pulverized, and now the world would never know what became of her poodle.
I hate the mud after a rainfall. It sticks to your shoes and splashes up onto your clothes. It is quite horrible if one is wearing white shoes, too.
its very brown and disgusting but when i was little i used to make mud pie and even ate one once which is gross but i think all kids did that really because being outside is good :)
The mud covered nicely over the big, thick tires that held my Silverado perfectly. I loved the truck, but my girlfriend hardely agreed with me keeping it. Which meant putting it for sale, and therefore – breaking my heart.
Yellow rain boots hopped in the brown muck. The children had dreaded the summer weather, but now they were satisfied. Getting dirty in the mud was a rare luxury to the kids on Maple Street, and they were having fun in the soggy treasure.
I slip in the mud until I can’t feel my feet under me. It’s a much better way to spend an afternoon than sitting at my desk doing work. And now I wonder why adults don’t do it more often.
mud is yucccky. then again all it is is wet dirt… but then again dirt is yucky too. I mean mud makes everything dirty ( ironic cause it’s dirt in wet form!) ha dirt is yucccky. mud makes dogs paws icky too.
Mud. The telltale sign of being out in the rain. On that fateful night when you just couldn’t take it anymore. When you died inside.
He was the best in our little group at slinging mud. Whatch what you say around him or he will hurl a great sloppy verbal mud pie straight at you.
i want to wrestle in the mud. its so fun. its so messy. its so… so… sexy. i feel like mud wrestling with someone sexy would lead to sex. i want sex. so i guess i want some mud.
sticks to my shoes when i trudge through it. splashes at my legs in my neighbors grassy yards. messy, but also soothing.
her silken body caressed through the pool of mud and she turned into an animal. Scraping trails of wet dirt across her skin. trying to cover every inch before the trackers got here. Soon they would be scavenging the villages looking for traces of life and she didnt want to become one of their slaves. That was no life.
Mud. Das ist ein Mund, dem ein n fehlt. Mudo. Stumm. Da gibs nichts mehr zu sagen. Worte fehlen. Buchstaben fehlen. Weggerutscht. Zu schnell geschrieben. Abgelutscht, das Stück Eis. Zunge verkühlt. Unbeweglich. Kein n mehr da.
dirty mud. when it rains there’s a lot of it in my back yard. it’s fun to make mud pies out of, and castles, etc.
I hated mud when I was a child. I used to get covered in it after every recess. It became an accessory to my outfit, much to my mother’s disapproval. It rained so much in CH. I couldn’t help it if I wanted to.
mud irks and ails in all mud pails before the calming massage