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Yeah, I’m a painted clock, so what? Better than being a painted butt. Like some people I know. Not saying who or anything, just that’s it’s better than being a painted butt. You know. Yeah.
So anyway. The reason I’m a painted clock is I was always asking to be one. So, in absence of being a painted butt, one day I was just become the painted clock.
By Richardton T. Slump URL on 06.06.2011
I was walking around new york city and i saw an amazing painting, that was painted by a young artist. The artist looked quite sad and depressed, i asked him why and he just said, “im not havingn a good day”.
By B'alam URL on 06.06.2011
i opened up a door to a room that’s painted blue
i gave myself a second chance- that’s when i met you.
making friends with all the bands that were coming through;
anytime i’d stop by there’d be someone there to talk to.
We sold the house since then
groups scatter to the wind
don’t go to far friend…
(open your eyes and you’ll find love)
By jamie t. on 06.06.2011
i love to paint. picasso painted. i painted. anna painted. why cant i paint? its so fun looking. i wish i was good at it. its fun and exciting and i acctua;;y have things to paint. painted work is the best kind! ever!
By Kyla on 06.06.2011
I was able to paint a bedroom and iu liked the color very much. I love the color blue. more like a cornflower gry blue maybe with some yellow. I will alwasy like the color blue. It maybe my favorite color. I like to paint with the color Blue.
Her smiles were painted perfectly on her face; just like colours that smeared white canvases.
By alaznwonder URL on 06.06.2011
elvis costello and burt bacharat. Painted from Memory is what I listen to at work, over and over again. Outside, across the street, people fire up the bbq pit. They must have a better job than I do. Hurumph.
By caroline1895 URL on 06.06.2011
she storked the opi color onto her chipped nails trying to cover the shame of what she had done. But cococabana arange just wasn’t doing the trick for her this time. She knew she was in a desperate situation. One that no amount of nail polish was going to cover.
By Deanna URL on 06.06.2011
toes and walls. and cracked ceramics. colors bright and luminescent. chipped. glossy. feverous. polished. wrinkled nose.
By delaney URL on 06.06.2011
We painted on the canvas until the image appeared. The vision was to paint a portrait of a lady having high tea. But, once the image took shape it appeared our “lady” looked more like a little girl wearing her mother’s large hat and over-sized white gloves.
By Donna Smith on 06.06.2011
like a house my friend. ain’t no better way to paint a house than with explosives. should probably be an outdoor paint if you’re going the explosives route though. you’re going to need a really durable paint. but don’t take my word for it. I’m just lavar burton, whta do I know abount this “painted” business. What can I say, the recessions been tough on us all.
By Annie on 06.06.2011
On canvas, beautiful vibrant colors that appeals to the eye. Beautiful emotion that screams happiness. Once painted, never gone.
By Jessica on 06.06.2011
Painted faces on parade.
walking the streets
looking like they are painted on
but do we notice?
no because we just try and keep our own up.
to guard us from anything that may cause us
By korrina URL on 06.06.2011
I once happened upon a painted sign while surfing the web. it was a stop sign, with a shadow painted on the concrete. it was a silhouette, but with “war” instead of stop. Made me hesitate for a moment, realizing how the world is so contradictory.
By Sean on 06.06.2011
He painted the walls with a fresh coat of white primer. “A fresh start,” she thought as she finished the last corner. If only it was that easy. She looked down at her paint samples, unsure of where to start. The neutrals just didn’t seem to cut it. She picked up her sketch book and began to fill the page with bright colors; “Now that is more like it.”
By Haley URL on 06.06.2011
The situation Ushio’s fellow officer painted over the radio was as confusing as it was annoying. The man groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. “Tell Takana, not me. Like I said I’m in interrogation right now.” Yusei snickered some more.
“No buts! I’m busy! Just tell me before you get the camera rolling again.”
By KCO URL on 06.06.2011
The painted sky was smeared with salmon pink and lavender purple and sherbert orange. The trees sliced silhouettes out of the background. She was mesmerized by the incredible sight; how could such a thing exist in such a world so dark?! Even more, how can we be so angry while such things exist! Its amazing what we miss when were waiting for our demons to find us again.
By Emily on 06.06.2011
When I was little I painted pictures of flowers and made a little book out of it. They were flowers like in Meme’s garden like lillies and irises and coxcomb. I wanted them to look like Monet.
By Lindsay Elizabeth Clark on 06.06.2011
i painted my room lime green and black, i love it. it matches the monster energy drink! my ceiling is black along with my carpet. my walls are lime green. miley cyrus and jonas brothers are all over my walls hahahaha. painting is fun…idk what else to type.
By bridgette on 06.06.2011
It was 3am. The telephone had fallen to the floor and a breeze blew the curtains aside. A chill went through my body, entered my spine and went down through my center… a reminder of the frigid weather and the unwelcoming blackness beyond the window ledge. I thought about sleeping, curled myself into the warmth of my comforter and let my eyes shut but my body was anxious for some unknown desire and I soon sat up. Moonbeams stretched around my toes as I searched for what I would need. With tools in hand, I grabbed a glass of water and sat on the glowing floor. I stretched my arm across the canvas, casting shadows in its wake, a simple reflection of the night. As I painted the sound of snow crinkled softly at my ear, with a glance at the window then back down to my work I added in this delicate flurry.
By hola on 06.06.2011
Painted are my nails. Painted is my wall. I have painted many walls. Sometimes I would like to paint the world around me, just cover everything up and start anew. Cover everything that makes me miserable and keep what makes me happy and fills me with joy. I love to paint! And I love colors. Colors express my moods, they know my soul. I could color every aspect of my life in order of color preference. Color is everything!
By Paola on 06.06.2011
Masks, hidden behind painted faces. Don’t show them how you really feel. Keep yourself closed off, like a book that has been shut. Slam the door to your past, that’s not who you are anymore. Paint on a calm face, don’t let him see the truth. He’s not supposed to be a part of this new future. Why can’t you just say no?
By Katie URL on 06.06.2011
It was 3am. The telephone had fallen to the floor and a breeze blew the curtains aside. A chill went through my body, entered my spine and went down through my center… a reminder of the frigid weather and the unwelcoming blackness beyond the window ledge. I thought about sleeping, curled myself into the warmth of my comforter and let my eyes shut but my body was anxious for some unknown desire and I soon sat up. Moonbeams stretched around my toes as I searched for what I would need. With tools in hand, I grabbed a glass of water and sat on the glowing floor. I stretched my arm across the canvas, casting shadows in its wake, a simple reflection of the night. As I painted the sound of snow crinkled softly at my ear, with a glance at the window then back down to my work I added in this delicate flurry. – Really by me xo Lili
By Lili on 06.06.2011
They paint their faced and put on their skates. Ready to do battle. Circle after circle, jam after jam. These painted roller derby all-stars…smart, sexy, viscious women. Incredible athletes. God I love this sport.
By Troy URL on 06.06.2011
I painted on my smile, as I did every morning. Bright, bloody fantastic red lipstick. It brought out the perfect white of my teeth while giving a slight nod to my gruesome interior. I wasn’t ever perfect, no matter how hard I tried, but when I put on my daily mask, I could pretend like I was flawless. As long as I smile, they might believe me, and if they believe it, perhaps I can too.
By Carolynn URL on 06.06.2011
The painted sky was smeared with salmon pink and lavender purple and sherbert orange. The trees sliced silhouettes out of the background. She was mesmerized by the incredible sight; how could such a thing exist in such a world so dark?! Its amazing what we miss when were waiting for our demons to find us again.
By paintedblack URL on 06.06.2011
the door is creaking lowly, swaying in the broken window’s breeze, the paint is peeling slowly, falling off and curling. the door to the place you want, want, wanted to be the place you can’t- won’t ever be.
By Olivia URL on 06.06.2011
when i was in high school i painted a mural in hall D. that was the hall of art and english. my 2 favorite things..especially my favorite teachers, that included my teacher hinojosa+lover, and mrs, hernandez, only the best fand kindest person i;ve ever known.
By kristina on 06.06.2011
possible who thought we could do such things. masterpieces pieces of shit fingers and brushes portraits with blushes scenic canvases the world is yours art who else can do this? paint pictures with words
By Thomas on 06.06.2011
fences. like the one tom sawyer has to paint for his aunt polly. the one he cleverly gets other kids to paint for him by making it seem like the greatest job ever. toenails, mine are red right now, but the polish is flaking off.
By Leah on 06.06.2011
Pintar paisajes de mente y lugar, retratos de profundas arrugas y huellas de tiempo, delicados cutiz en proceso de madurez
By Pacho Pardo on 06.06.2011
I looked around as I painted my picture. It wasnt as good as all the other kids around me, but i liked it. It was what i wanted to put on the paper, not what the rules of the project said. Because art wasn’t just a bunch of rules, it was whatever i painted.
By L.W. on 06.06.2011
I want to paint a girl sitting cross legged on my wall next to that flower. That flower will always remind me of you now, how you used to tell me that you were falling in love with me, and that you actually payed attention to how many petals were missing. I loved that you payed attention. I love that you still do. I simply, love you.
By Hope Starr Selander URL on 06.06.2011
It was ink and it was blood and it was the dried resin, the blood of the trees, powdered and mixed together. The colors were red and green and blue. They ran in lines down her body, tracing curves and patterns that spoke of things best left unsaid, but better even still, seen.
By Lunarflight URL on 06.06.2011
Her hands were painted with the blood of her brothers, the result of an unfortunate event due to misnavigation. Never again did the moon look so sad as what started as a fun play day ended as a day of unforgettable sadness. One crossed border resulted in two ended lives. The girl’s paint was dry.
By Will Brummett URL on 06.06.2011
so i thought, and he thought… and then we waited.
who am i to suggest that anyone remove their clothing.
it’s a intimacy, he says.
and i believe him.
i remove them. and he paints. who am i to disagree.
By Josh on 06.06.2011
I drove by the brick house that had been painted white what seemed like a million years ago. Growing up down the street I told myself, “one day I’ll be an adult and I’ll get married and I’ll come back and buy this house.” That’s exactly what I had done. My husband Bryan and I hadn’t even known each other for three days before I took him here. He saw how much I loved it. In my eyes, in my smile. He said it “radiated” from me. Whatever that meant.
By Alex on 06.06.2011
These days are painted
with pain and struggle and growth.
We try to pretend that the nights
are not just sessions of TV re-runs
and more and more gallons of scotch,
but we cant see past the haze that we’ve
put up around our hands to see that
Could we be growing up,
Or just aprart…?
By Destin URL on 06.06.2011
What started as an activity ended in misfortune. The splattered paint on her hands was only a mere symbol of the broken glass before her. With tears in hand, her mother picked her up, gave her a brush, and let her pain again.
painted, waste of paint. i had a friend once and his clothes were always spotted like my mothers. in that way he reminded me of home. but, this was more romantic than home. it was like some one elses home, i thought about it every time i saw him. i think i fell in love the first time i saw those blue and green drips on his clothing.
By sierra URL on 06.06.2011
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.