The boy dragged the ragged carcass from the road, trying to breathe between heaving it behind him. His palms, sweaty with perspiration, cramped. He dropped the animal, wishing his father would come from down the road. He longed to hear the old engine roar, loved hearing it purr down the road. Ever since Donny came back, his father stopped coming around.
The ragged cliffs stood tall, jessica couldnt wait to climb to the top of them, she knew it would be her final climb. In a few hours she would be free to jump, free to fall, free to land on whatever spot her effort left her with. She would be happy. She would be free.
The gnome approached me with a ragged sack of stones. I reached in and pulled out a square one with a tiny rune scrawled upon it. He excused himself to vomit.
Ragged I don’t know what this word means. But for some reason i’m thinking of a hobo :o. I dunno.. Hum.. Like really badly dressed :P. And picks up trash and cans to sell for money :D haha.
torn down, when your boyfriend dumps you you feel ragged inside because your heart has been torn apart. So sad. You feel ragged when your sick, like you’ve been hit by a truck.
the ugly boy was covered in rags. he wore the outfit when he was n aushwitz and decided it was time to bring it back out. life sucked then and it sucks now, so why not make it worse by bringing back those memories. sure this may make the boy sadder in many ways but it also bring a sort of relief and calming effect, odd as that may be.
the girl was wet and ragged. Her clothes hung on her like a pile of bones. It was obvious the rain had not just drenched the cloth that hung on her, but you could see it had permeated through her skin to her bones, her heart, her soul.
A worn and ragged old teddy bear sat, slumped in the creaky rocking chair that once filled the corner of her room. Long forgotten, the memories of this cherished toy hold all the time of a life lived and a child grown.
An old man sittin’ on the corner
A sign misspelled saying something ’bout horror
Can’t keep his jeans up, don’t got a belt
Livin’ a life most would see as some kind of hell
But he lives a ragged life
And, at least, now you knows.
Completely ignoring the jeering high schoolers, I got up and dusted of my ragged clothing, trying to wipe off as much spaghetti sauce from my clumsiness as possible. The holes in my new jeans were unforgivable, and the tear in my shirt was hideous.
Rageddy anne is the first thing that comes to mind. I loved my rageddy anne dolls when I was little. I had a giant one, the size of me at the time. Probably only 3 feet long in reality. I had her brother andy. And a small version of each one. I loved them so much, definitely my favorite childhood doll.
I’ve had days where I’ve felt like I’ve been run ragged. Those can be the best days, but more often, are the worst days. I’d like more good days of being run down in the best ways possible, as hard and as many times as you so desire.
Money? anyone? please, just a few spare coins?” called the ragged homeless man across the street, i shouldered my backpack and tightened the straps nervously.
She stepped into the doorway, hair ragged, unkept, unclean. She didn’t make a good first impression to her future husband; at least that’s what she thought. He took one look at her and fell in love. That ragged hair swayed it for him.
the ragged trouser philanthropist is a book i have always ment to read and never have it was first suggested to me by a man called andy in a pub, that was nearly ten years ago, its clearly still on my conscience
ragged bookcases ragged people walking down streets looking torn at the edges. windows that are ragged from being shut from being slammed by ragged human beings shutting out the ragged world. Fear of being ragged, from being torn. We are all ragged however. Ragged torn beautiful. Like ripped jeans or ripped up pieces of paper thrown together into a collage. The beauty is in the flaw. The beards of men scratching down their necks solidly, truly. Freedom is ragged for freedom only comes in the torn up bits of life. Why would we need freedom if we weren’t torn somehow? This makes no sense. Jesus. Jesus was ragged. Two gs in ragged. The word follows rules. The a is short sounding because there are two consonants before the next vowel. Sweetly following rules. The gs are hard because they are put together. Otherwise it would be raged. Raged is angry. Ragged just is. I wish I could just be. Being a students keeps me from just being. Why can’t we just be? Why can’t we just enjoy our existence? It leaves us so quickly. Why wouldn’t we try to enjoy it and make sure that others enjoy it. We are so wrapped up in our little world that we don’t think about the fact that it is not the only thing there is. And eventually we will be thrown out of it and we don’t know what is coming next. Shouldn’t we be happy? Shouldn’t we strive for happiness? Shouldn’t we want that for our fellow men? After all, we could be them. We could be homeless, cold, hungry. Those of us who are lucky enough not to be turn a blind eye because it makes them unhappy to think about. They would like to focus on their jobs and their studies and their lives. The homeless aren’t happy. The home-ful aren’t happy either because they don’t know the truth.
Erik said that he wanted to know the truth. It was one of the things he said that night. Four things he wanted from life. I miss being able to talk to him that way. I miss just being able to ask “alright, what are four things you want from life” now conversation is so forced. I wonder if I told him the truth about me he would still want to know it. I need to leave him alone but I just miss him so much. Our raw time together. How has it not been sixty seconds yet? Or maybe it was sixty minutes that I was supposed to write?
I had a Raggedy Anne doll when I was little. I really enjoyed her company. Soon after she had a friend named Andy. Maybe he came first, I’m not sure. They were my Aunt Pam’s I think. That’s why I loved them so much.
beaten and tossed like this body is a vessel at sea and the sea gods don’t like me much, ragged like so much seaweed and rusted like so many ancient hulls.
that ragged old shirt has to go! she told me as i sliped threw the back door.
now in the shed i gab the shovle and my hand is sturken with the misfortune of a splinter, this upsets me. “Fuck” i say out loud to my self as i begin to take it out. the splinter is to small for me to take out with my bare hand so i make my way back into my house.
my mother tells me that i still need to bring my laundry dwn stairs so that she can start the whites but i ignore her while i enter the bathroom where i franticly search for the tweezers.
some people get ragged on for no reason what so ever. they didn’t do anything to be ragged on but it happens. they don’t like their clothes or their hair or maybe the way that the smell. some people get ragged on for being a chicken. my oldest brother rag on my youngest brother all the time for being a big baby when he gets sick. sometimes they rag on me for certain things
Her fingernails were always ragged. She bit them when she was excited and she broke them when she typed. You could tell if she had a good idea by the state of her fingernails.
I run my fingers along the ragged edge of the fence and then get to examine a hand coated in blood, nonsense pictures drawn with tiny scratches. That small pain takes hold and expands inside of me; it’s excruciating, no matter how minuscule and shallow the scratches are. Every single gesture burns. Years later, I realize it’s the same for heartache.
old. tired. dirty. usually refering to an item of clothing, or a bag, or something like that. but yeah. just old and used and worn i would say. thats what ragged is… yep
Ragged jagged teeth of the saw biting my flesh as me face is pressed against the fence patterns of mesh on my face, strips of horror and fear enticing the onlookers as they watch me suffer to breathe through the blood and bile In my throat shakey gurrgled ragged breaths scrape against my throat as I rip my final scream from my soul as my pupils turn coal and my body falls and rolls
almost like rugged. maybe someone who has a rag and is also rugged looking. somebody who is haggered. they have seen a lot in their life. they are done with it. ready to move on. they had a rugged friend once but he went away a long long time ago. she misses him and his beard.
The cool night air was trying and Emily had a hard time thinking, as her ragged breaths created a thudding in her chest that would not stop beating. It was either lack of air or lack of exercise that left her body in the state, but Emily decided she need to condition her body for the season more often.
I know Raggedy Ann, Andy, and the candy cane rag. I snag your ragged ass to the bone, and you shiver in excitement. Sometimes I come out ragged, and sometimes I rag myself up, but most times, the earth runs ragged through my veins.
Je ne comprends pas cet exercice. Pourquoi le ferais-je? Est-ce qu’on me donnera des conseils sur mon écriture? Est-ce que c’est seulement pour me faire écrire, mais puisque c’est à l’internet, c’est plus ‘cool’ et je le ferais volontiers?
The ragged doll lay on the bed, unused and lonely. It sat there, longing for Sally to come pick her up once more. It’s a sad feeling that a doll get when its owner doesn’t touch it for a long time. The ragged doll hadn’t been touched in over three years. Sure, it’d been sitting there, on the perfectly fluffed pillows of the perfectly made-up bed for all that time. And sure, all Sally’s other friends had been sitting right there next to her or up on the shelves. The room would have looked perfect, to an outsider. But to anyone in the family, they would know that the door to the room had not been opened in three weeks. In those three weeks, the doll had grown exponentially more sad, lonely and afraid. This particular doll had been Sally’s favorite, which was why it was so peculiar that Sally had not come to play with her in so long.
It was then that Sally saw out the window, Sally’s parents with the newspaper. And with the dolls very good vision, the doll could see the page in the newspaper that everyone hated to read. And on that page, the doll could see Sally’s picture, with a list of Sally’s achievements in her short, nine-year life. The doll could see that Sally would never come to play again.
The boy dragged the ragged carcass from the road, trying to breathe between heaving it behind him. His palms, sweaty with perspiration, cramped. He dropped the animal, wishing his father would come from down the road. He longed to hear the old engine roar, loved hearing it purr down the road. Ever since Donny came back, his father stopped coming around.
The ragged cliffs stood tall, jessica couldnt wait to climb to the top of them, she knew it would be her final climb. In a few hours she would be free to jump, free to fall, free to land on whatever spot her effort left her with. She would be happy. She would be free.
The gnome approached me with a ragged sack of stones. I reached in and pulled out a square one with a tiny rune scrawled upon it. He excused himself to vomit.
Ragged I don’t know what this word means. But for some reason i’m thinking of a hobo :o. I dunno.. Hum.. Like really badly dressed :P. And picks up trash and cans to sell for money :D haha.
torn down, when your boyfriend dumps you you feel ragged inside because your heart has been torn apart. So sad. You feel ragged when your sick, like you’ve been hit by a truck.
wood listen davis baby now rater bells california arrive elevate reason cold melon clean super breast lincoln
poor soul had been ripped out and trampled on. It’s hard to think of a soul as ragged. But trust me, his was.
the ugly boy was covered in rags. he wore the outfit when he was n aushwitz and decided it was time to bring it back out. life sucked then and it sucks now, so why not make it worse by bringing back those memories. sure this may make the boy sadder in many ways but it also bring a sort of relief and calming effect, odd as that may be.
the girl was wet and ragged. Her clothes hung on her like a pile of bones. It was obvious the rain had not just drenched the cloth that hung on her, but you could see it had permeated through her skin to her bones, her heart, her soul.
A worn and ragged old teddy bear sat, slumped in the creaky rocking chair that once filled the corner of her room. Long forgotten, the memories of this cherished toy hold all the time of a life lived and a child grown.
An old man sittin’ on the corner
A sign misspelled saying something ’bout horror
Can’t keep his jeans up, don’t got a belt
Livin’ a life most would see as some kind of hell
But he lives a ragged life
And, at least, now you knows.
Completely ignoring the jeering high schoolers, I got up and dusted of my ragged clothing, trying to wipe off as much spaghetti sauce from my clumsiness as possible. The holes in my new jeans were unforgivable, and the tear in my shirt was hideous.
Rageddy anne is the first thing that comes to mind. I loved my rageddy anne dolls when I was little. I had a giant one, the size of me at the time. Probably only 3 feet long in reality. I had her brother andy. And a small version of each one. I loved them so much, definitely my favorite childhood doll.
doll
aretha franklin
river deep mountain high
glee
love you
diva
love it grows
I’ve had days where I’ve felt like I’ve been run ragged. Those can be the best days, but more often, are the worst days. I’d like more good days of being run down in the best ways possible, as hard and as many times as you so desire.
you
took me for all i was worth
and rubbed my heart
on the bottom of your boots.
Money? anyone? please, just a few spare coins?” called the ragged homeless man across the street, i shouldered my backpack and tightened the straps nervously.
She stepped into the doorway, hair ragged, unkept, unclean. She didn’t make a good first impression to her future husband; at least that’s what she thought. He took one look at her and fell in love. That ragged hair swayed it for him.
the ragged trouser philanthropist is a book i have always ment to read and never have it was first suggested to me by a man called andy in a pub, that was nearly ten years ago, its clearly still on my conscience
torn
ragged bookcases ragged people walking down streets looking torn at the edges. windows that are ragged from being shut from being slammed by ragged human beings shutting out the ragged world. Fear of being ragged, from being torn. We are all ragged however. Ragged torn beautiful. Like ripped jeans or ripped up pieces of paper thrown together into a collage. The beauty is in the flaw. The beards of men scratching down their necks solidly, truly. Freedom is ragged for freedom only comes in the torn up bits of life. Why would we need freedom if we weren’t torn somehow? This makes no sense. Jesus. Jesus was ragged. Two gs in ragged. The word follows rules. The a is short sounding because there are two consonants before the next vowel. Sweetly following rules. The gs are hard because they are put together. Otherwise it would be raged. Raged is angry. Ragged just is. I wish I could just be. Being a students keeps me from just being. Why can’t we just be? Why can’t we just enjoy our existence? It leaves us so quickly. Why wouldn’t we try to enjoy it and make sure that others enjoy it. We are so wrapped up in our little world that we don’t think about the fact that it is not the only thing there is. And eventually we will be thrown out of it and we don’t know what is coming next. Shouldn’t we be happy? Shouldn’t we strive for happiness? Shouldn’t we want that for our fellow men? After all, we could be them. We could be homeless, cold, hungry. Those of us who are lucky enough not to be turn a blind eye because it makes them unhappy to think about. They would like to focus on their jobs and their studies and their lives. The homeless aren’t happy. The home-ful aren’t happy either because they don’t know the truth.
Erik said that he wanted to know the truth. It was one of the things he said that night. Four things he wanted from life. I miss being able to talk to him that way. I miss just being able to ask “alright, what are four things you want from life” now conversation is so forced. I wonder if I told him the truth about me he would still want to know it. I need to leave him alone but I just miss him so much. Our raw time together. How has it not been sixty seconds yet? Or maybe it was sixty minutes that I was supposed to write?
I had a Raggedy Anne doll when I was little. I really enjoyed her company. Soon after she had a friend named Andy. Maybe he came first, I’m not sure. They were my Aunt Pam’s I think. That’s why I loved them so much.
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beaten and tossed like this body is a vessel at sea and the sea gods don’t like me much, ragged like so much seaweed and rusted like so many ancient hulls.
that ragged old shirt has to go! she told me as i sliped threw the back door.
now in the shed i gab the shovle and my hand is sturken with the misfortune of a splinter, this upsets me. “Fuck” i say out loud to my self as i begin to take it out. the splinter is to small for me to take out with my bare hand so i make my way back into my house.
my mother tells me that i still need to bring my laundry dwn stairs so that she can start the whites but i ignore her while i enter the bathroom where i franticly search for the tweezers.
some people get ragged on for no reason what so ever. they didn’t do anything to be ragged on but it happens. they don’t like their clothes or their hair or maybe the way that the smell. some people get ragged on for being a chicken. my oldest brother rag on my youngest brother all the time for being a big baby when he gets sick. sometimes they rag on me for certain things
Today my mother ragged on me about cleaning my room. What she doesn’t realize is that it’s about ten time better than it was… shameful sigh.
Her fingernails were always ragged. She bit them when she was excited and she broke them when she typed. You could tell if she had a good idea by the state of her fingernails.
ragged she was, like sexed up by some boy she hardly knew. no care or romance; well, a smutty poetry in the jolting movements.
I run my fingers along the ragged edge of the fence and then get to examine a hand coated in blood, nonsense pictures drawn with tiny scratches. That small pain takes hold and expands inside of me; it’s excruciating, no matter how minuscule and shallow the scratches are. Every single gesture burns. Years later, I realize it’s the same for heartache.
Frayed
Torn
Ripped at the seams
Shaggy
Loose
Raggedy Ann..
old. tired. dirty. usually refering to an item of clothing, or a bag, or something like that. but yeah. just old and used and worn i would say. thats what ragged is… yep
Ragged jagged teeth of the saw biting my flesh as me face is pressed against the fence patterns of mesh on my face, strips of horror and fear enticing the onlookers as they watch me suffer to breathe through the blood and bile In my throat shakey gurrgled ragged breaths scrape against my throat as I rip my final scream from my soul as my pupils turn coal and my body falls and rolls
almost like rugged. maybe someone who has a rag and is also rugged looking. somebody who is haggered. they have seen a lot in their life. they are done with it. ready to move on. they had a rugged friend once but he went away a long long time ago. she misses him and his beard.
The cool night air was trying and Emily had a hard time thinking, as her ragged breaths created a thudding in her chest that would not stop beating. It was either lack of air or lack of exercise that left her body in the state, but Emily decided she need to condition her body for the season more often.
I know Raggedy Ann, Andy, and the candy cane rag. I snag your ragged ass to the bone, and you shiver in excitement. Sometimes I come out ragged, and sometimes I rag myself up, but most times, the earth runs ragged through my veins.
Je ne comprends pas cet exercice. Pourquoi le ferais-je? Est-ce qu’on me donnera des conseils sur mon écriture? Est-ce que c’est seulement pour me faire écrire, mais puisque c’est à l’internet, c’est plus ‘cool’ et je le ferais volontiers?
He ragged on her, day and night.
She stayed with him, out of fright.
She got revenge, by growing wings.
He was left, disposing her things.
The ragged truth was seeping through my skin, burning me alive, and I was left withnothing but the ragged remains of it all.
The ragged doll lay on the bed, unused and lonely. It sat there, longing for Sally to come pick her up once more. It’s a sad feeling that a doll get when its owner doesn’t touch it for a long time. The ragged doll hadn’t been touched in over three years. Sure, it’d been sitting there, on the perfectly fluffed pillows of the perfectly made-up bed for all that time. And sure, all Sally’s other friends had been sitting right there next to her or up on the shelves. The room would have looked perfect, to an outsider. But to anyone in the family, they would know that the door to the room had not been opened in three weeks. In those three weeks, the doll had grown exponentially more sad, lonely and afraid. This particular doll had been Sally’s favorite, which was why it was so peculiar that Sally had not come to play with her in so long.
It was then that Sally saw out the window, Sally’s parents with the newspaper. And with the dolls very good vision, the doll could see the page in the newspaper that everyone hated to read. And on that page, the doll could see Sally’s picture, with a list of Sally’s achievements in her short, nine-year life. The doll could see that Sally would never come to play again.