I like to pour milk and see it form that shiny little stream as it enters my cup. I like that “pour” and “poor” are homonyms. Right now I would love to pour some hot tea into my mouth
i pour my heart into everything i do just as the rain pours down the windows. it pours through my life crashing and booming like ocean waves. the syrup pours over the pancakes..chocolate chip.
I would love to pour my heart and soul into my writing but I feel as if I am inadequate – that someone will surpass me in writing ability and frown upon my feeble attempt to compose.
One day I decided to pour myself a glass of lemonade but it was too sugary so I poured extra lemon juice in it. Then it was too sour so I put in more poured in more sugar from the bag. It was too sweet once more so I poured in some water and then it tasted great so I poured my mom and dad a glass too.
pouring down the window,drip,drippig,drop.
silent,echoing in the silent night,like tears staining a clear,clear, world. silent,sparkling,glittering universe in each droplet.
destoryed,spattered,gone as they pour down the window.
Pour the water all over the floor. Scrub and scrub and scrub. Clean out the ashes in the fireplace. Vacuum the rug and scour the pans. Where’s my fairy godmother when I need her?
outside, it began to pour. the rain spattered accross the windows like tiny bullets that couldnt break glass. the wind whined loudly and wove into the trees as it did. this was deffinately the worst storm yet.
poor people need jobs. por favor? please give all of your donations to the man in the alley with the black jacket and the white rock. leave your dignity and your complaints at home.
I pour out my heart to you. into your ears my words come and hit your eardrums and go to your brain where they ferment until you are no longer mad at me. at that time you will pour out yur apology to me and i will accept it.
I poor the molten rock into the cup &drink it. It’s hot as hell. But I like he pain. I continue until it is gone. &I feel it cascade through my veins. I’s nice, I like this feeling of hatred.
pour me some love, pour me some passion, pour me something more than than I already have. Or pour me some potion to know how to use what I already have. Just don’t make me poor.
pour on the love, enrich the soul by giving. it matters how you interact with the world, you can make it better or worse by what you do. so pour on the love, it is the best thing you can do for yourself and everyone else.
pour baby girl that was there seated in the corner of that pour neightborhood. I would like to give her a penny but i am also pour, you get it right. Both of
pour it all in me inside cascade down my inner self my fuel and my life and light my life will pour unto you as well and we will know and see your love and i will know you once more
pour me some love and ill pour you some of me. ill pour you a drink, ill give you some tea. pour me your heart and ill pour you my soul, meet me halfway ill be down below. pour me your crys and ill wipe them away, be mine forever for pour it away.
ill pour it all out, youll drink it up… but what i never expected was that you would drain me dry…
ill pour it out and youll drink it up…
i cant give anymore, you could always take more than enough…
leaving me barren and dry, shriveled and patheitc, you sit plump with with my devotion…
ill pour it all out until there is nothing left, youll lap it up with out a seconds hasitation… youll drain me dry… ill have nothing… No big surprise there
she laughed. he poured sand out of his shoes, red in the face looked up at her. “we made it” he breathlessly exclaimed, a gleaming grin streaked across his face. She shook her hair a golden mess of blond, more sand pouring out, sand sand everywhere.
I would pour my heart out to you tonight
But the lines are busy and the hour is late
There is no time in this spinning maze
No time to return, that is
Life is a dizzy spiral that goes round
But never stays in the same place
And we have lost touch with the space
Around us, with the heat in our own fingertips
I wanted to whisper to the wounds of the heart
To shake it all into nothingness
Then make it whole again
I wanted to erase the pain of yesterday
And replace it with bliss
But this is not the way things work
This is not the way I planned
And I am standing here with an empty hand
And an open heart, and the need to start
All over again
When it rains it pours, and the downfall of emotion she was displaying was drenching me to the skin. Old grievance after old grievance was placed at my feet, until I thought the pile would bury me. Who knew one person could hide that much hate for so long? I wondered, waiting for the next secret to spill.
pour a glass of lemonade on a hot day. not the storebought kind but the real thing. too late it isnt appetizing with all the cold weather lately, but maybe it’s finally warming up.
pour, like chocolate chips into cookie dough, like jews into a oven, rock a-by the merry go round until we choke to death over lustful martyrdom and crashing planes. you silly peace activists, we’re at war for the people who died, we want to honor them and avenge them, let’s kill more for them!
He poured her a glass of orange juice and handed it too her. She took it and got up from the table, walking over to him and giving him a long kiss.
“Good morning.”
pouring out your heart to someone doesn’t require reciprocation. i learned this the hard way at fifteen. its funny that i can’t write something fictional about these things. but whatever. point being: dont pour your heart into unfamiliars cups. they might have a trick bottom. the world is out to see your heart spilling on teh floor.
I pour my juice, I mix it with water because now I am old and can not take the sweetness. I pour it into my glass and sometimes it tastes good. Sometimes the pour maybe bad, or something and it is not like when I was a kid
The pain pours down my car window and I am 12 years old watching my father say goodbye to his mother on the telephone because he is about to spend the next five years of his and my life in prison. I can’t
Man why did he have to be making this?
“Orihime is this enough?”
“Nope keep going kurosaki-kun”
“ITS OVERFLOWING!”
“Oh…okay you can stop now then”
“You should have told me that before” he groaned chocolate batter all over his shirt
Pouring rain and I love how rain looks on streets at night, with the lights reflected in shapes that don’t make sense. Pour a drink, drink your daydreams away, drink away the monsters that keep you up at night. Pour your heart out, put your heart away, don’t think those things, get some sleep, dear. Listen, listen.
The ruthless swirls of grey invaded the crisp, cool blue of the august sky. Pellets of summer downpour drenched my freckly skin as my eyelids caught individual raindrops with each lash.
it was falling so hard and cold he disliked the rain and couldnt fathom it but somehow these bleak and wet days were her favorite so he had promised to always stand in ti so they could be together at least once more
Pour. What exactly can I say? It’s the quintessential method of measure, not just physically, but psychologically, as well. How is that glass? Half-empty or half-full? Depends on if you’re drinking or pouring. Hard to say, really. So many different ways to see it.
As he poured his drink, he reflected on his past. Where has he been, what has he done. One word came to his mind. Nothing. He became distraught at the thought, and pushed it out of his head right before he went back to work at his wonderfully dull job, but couldn’t help but think how things could have been different.
Pour money down the drain. Pour alcohol down the throat. Pour your life into your work, into your kids, into everything but your dreams. Pouring rain like tears on the surface of a broken world. Happiness pours onto the soul, from the smile of others, the laughter of children. A pour of sugar, a pour of salt. Pour another cup of coffee.
The rain poured down in sheets. Forming a wall of water, but to Niven’s mind, and sharp eyes, they were individual droplets; too fast for the normal human to see. They all blurred together. Then for a brief second, stopped.
Niven raised his head; it hovered over his crossed arms.
The sunlight draped over the kitchen on this warm August day as she poured a glass of lemonade for her husband cutting the grass. She smiled and wiped her hands on her floral apron. She was happy with him and with her life. She picked up the glass and headed into the backtard.
I like to pour milk and see it form that shiny little stream as it enters my cup. I like that “pour” and “poor” are homonyms. Right now I would love to pour some hot tea into my mouth
i pour my heart into everything i do just as the rain pours down the windows. it pours through my life crashing and booming like ocean waves. the syrup pours over the pancakes..chocolate chip.
I would love to pour my heart and soul into my writing but I feel as if I am inadequate – that someone will surpass me in writing ability and frown upon my feeble attempt to compose.
One day I decided to pour myself a glass of lemonade but it was too sugary so I poured extra lemon juice in it. Then it was too sour so I put in more poured in more sugar from the bag. It was too sweet once more so I poured in some water and then it tasted great so I poured my mom and dad a glass too.
pouring down the window,drip,drippig,drop.
silent,echoing in the silent night,like tears staining a clear,clear, world. silent,sparkling,glittering universe in each droplet.
destoryed,spattered,gone as they pour down the window.
Pour the water all over the floor. Scrub and scrub and scrub. Clean out the ashes in the fireplace. Vacuum the rug and scour the pans. Where’s my fairy godmother when I need her?
pour your heart out onto the floor..
pour from the cleavage of mother’s nectar, simple warmth and comfort clings. Then softly it coats the inner lining of empty hallowness.
outside, it began to pour. the rain spattered accross the windows like tiny bullets that couldnt break glass. the wind whined loudly and wove into the trees as it did. this was deffinately the worst storm yet.
there was a pour little dog. the dog didnt have much money! the dog poured lemonade! pour dog shouldnt do that pour work
poor people need jobs. por favor? please give all of your donations to the man in the alley with the black jacket and the white rock. leave your dignity and your complaints at home.
I pour out my heart to you. into your ears my words come and hit your eardrums and go to your brain where they ferment until you are no longer mad at me. at that time you will pour out yur apology to me and i will accept it.
I poor the molten rock into the cup &drink it. It’s hot as hell. But I like he pain. I continue until it is gone. &I feel it cascade through my veins. I’s nice, I like this feeling of hatred.
pour me some love, pour me some passion, pour me something more than than I already have. Or pour me some potion to know how to use what I already have. Just don’t make me poor.
pour on the love, enrich the soul by giving. it matters how you interact with the world, you can make it better or worse by what you do. so pour on the love, it is the best thing you can do for yourself and everyone else.
pour baby girl that was there seated in the corner of that pour neightborhood. I would like to give her a penny but i am also pour, you get it right. Both of
pour it all in me inside cascade down my inner self my fuel and my life and light my life will pour unto you as well and we will know and see your love and i will know you once more
pour me some love and ill pour you some of me. ill pour you a drink, ill give you some tea. pour me your heart and ill pour you my soul, meet me halfway ill be down below. pour me your crys and ill wipe them away, be mine forever for pour it away.
the water gently poured from the beautiful ceramic pitcher into my clear glass. it was cold and refreshing. calm and serene.
ill pour it all out, youll drink it up… but what i never expected was that you would drain me dry…
ill pour it out and youll drink it up…
i cant give anymore, you could always take more than enough…
leaving me barren and dry, shriveled and patheitc, you sit plump with with my devotion…
ill pour it all out until there is nothing left, youll lap it up with out a seconds hasitation… youll drain me dry… ill have nothing… No big surprise there
she laughed. he poured sand out of his shoes, red in the face looked up at her. “we made it” he breathlessly exclaimed, a gleaming grin streaked across his face. She shook her hair a golden mess of blond, more sand pouring out, sand sand everywhere.
I would pour my heart out to you tonight
But the lines are busy and the hour is late
There is no time in this spinning maze
No time to return, that is
Life is a dizzy spiral that goes round
But never stays in the same place
And we have lost touch with the space
Around us, with the heat in our own fingertips
I wanted to whisper to the wounds of the heart
To shake it all into nothingness
Then make it whole again
I wanted to erase the pain of yesterday
And replace it with bliss
But this is not the way things work
This is not the way I planned
And I am standing here with an empty hand
And an open heart, and the need to start
All over again
i wanted to pour my love all over him.
When it rains it pours, and the downfall of emotion she was displaying was drenching me to the skin. Old grievance after old grievance was placed at my feet, until I thought the pile would bury me. Who knew one person could hide that much hate for so long? I wondered, waiting for the next secret to spill.
pour a glass of lemonade on a hot day. not the storebought kind but the real thing. too late it isnt appetizing with all the cold weather lately, but maybe it’s finally warming up.
pour, like chocolate chips into cookie dough, like jews into a oven, rock a-by the merry go round until we choke to death over lustful martyrdom and crashing planes. you silly peace activists, we’re at war for the people who died, we want to honor them and avenge them, let’s kill more for them!
He poured her a glass of orange juice and handed it too her. She took it and got up from the table, walking over to him and giving him a long kiss.
“Good morning.”
pouring out your heart to someone doesn’t require reciprocation. i learned this the hard way at fifteen. its funny that i can’t write something fictional about these things. but whatever. point being: dont pour your heart into unfamiliars cups. they might have a trick bottom. the world is out to see your heart spilling on teh floor.
I pour my juice, I mix it with water because now I am old and can not take the sweetness. I pour it into my glass and sometimes it tastes good. Sometimes the pour maybe bad, or something and it is not like when I was a kid
The pain pours down my car window and I am 12 years old watching my father say goodbye to his mother on the telephone because he is about to spend the next five years of his and my life in prison. I can’t
Man why did he have to be making this?
“Orihime is this enough?”
“Nope keep going kurosaki-kun”
“ITS OVERFLOWING!”
“Oh…okay you can stop now then”
“You should have told me that before” he groaned chocolate batter all over his shirt
Pouring rain and I love how rain looks on streets at night, with the lights reflected in shapes that don’t make sense. Pour a drink, drink your daydreams away, drink away the monsters that keep you up at night. Pour your heart out, put your heart away, don’t think those things, get some sleep, dear. Listen, listen.
The ruthless swirls of grey invaded the crisp, cool blue of the august sky. Pellets of summer downpour drenched my freckly skin as my eyelids caught individual raindrops with each lash.
it was falling so hard and cold he disliked the rain and couldnt fathom it but somehow these bleak and wet days were her favorite so he had promised to always stand in ti so they could be together at least once more
Pour. What exactly can I say? It’s the quintessential method of measure, not just physically, but psychologically, as well. How is that glass? Half-empty or half-full? Depends on if you’re drinking or pouring. Hard to say, really. So many different ways to see it.
As he poured his drink, he reflected on his past. Where has he been, what has he done. One word came to his mind. Nothing. He became distraught at the thought, and pushed it out of his head right before he went back to work at his wonderfully dull job, but couldn’t help but think how things could have been different.
Pour money down the drain. Pour alcohol down the throat. Pour your life into your work, into your kids, into everything but your dreams. Pouring rain like tears on the surface of a broken world. Happiness pours onto the soul, from the smile of others, the laughter of children. A pour of sugar, a pour of salt. Pour another cup of coffee.
The rain poured down in sheets. Forming a wall of water, but to Niven’s mind, and sharp eyes, they were individual droplets; too fast for the normal human to see. They all blurred together. Then for a brief second, stopped.
Niven raised his head; it hovered over his crossed arms.
It couldn’t have stopped
The sunlight draped over the kitchen on this warm August day as she poured a glass of lemonade for her husband cutting the grass. She smiled and wiped her hands on her floral apron. She was happy with him and with her life. She picked up the glass and headed into the backtard.
me some water. cold icy water. so pure its invisible.