there is a roof on the ceiling of my brain and it protects me from the rain especially when the umbrella springs a leak in the center of my heart releasing the depth ofmy soul to the humanity of the world which of course doesn’t exist which is why…
the roof on my head
may collapse
but the roof above that
always has been
and always will be
to roam beneath the open sky
has been man’s nature
always was
and always will be.
He sat on the roof. The sky bleeding red and tangerine as the sunset broke over the house tops. The quaint suburb, with its pale whit houses suddenly stained ruddy as if with blood that was halfway washed off.
roof is a place to enjoy the wind. some times people can also do suicides from there. lot of orthopaedic injuries occur there.
We can also watch people there.
the roof was soking wet from the rian coming down outside. We didn’t know what to do to stop it from coming through to the ceiling, down on the floor. Our floor was just new, we just put it in. You must understand how frustrated we were. I mean, come on a soaking wet roof, to a soaking wet, brand new floor. Why us? Why onw? And rigt here at Christmas time to. There goes my wishlist.
he sat on the roof, literally kicking off the moss. he only
did it cause he wanted to recreate the song. while he was up there
he noticed the stars and stared. i wonder if this was elton’s
favorite part of being on top of a house too… yeah. as he climbed
down he slipped a little clinging on. damn it elton.
He was just standing on the roof, ready to jump, when I arrived. I shout : “DON’T !” He looked at me, and just laughed ! He had a camera in his hand and said : “I’m just trying to get the best of the world, and this building seems to be perfect”. When I got closer to him, i saw it. The world was so beautiful.
I sat on the mossy wood-paneled roof, draped in a maroon
blanket, sipping hot cocoa. The streets were slick with
jewel-colored Christmas lights. If I slipped, I’d surely die, or at
least break every last bone.
It goes on top of a house. Ours is green and metal. I don’t like it; the old roof was better-looking. Roofs keep rain out. Some people around here mispronounce roof like it’s woof, the sound a dog makes. There is a hotel chain called Red Roof Inn.
It was cold. The surface of the old, worm shingles
scratched her feet as she scraped slowly over them. There was a
breeze. It lifted the corners of her night gown teasingly, tickling
it’s long, cold fingers on her pale legs.
He was standing on the edge of the roof. Peaking across the edge, he took in a deep breathe as the distance down struck him. He smiled, water from the rain running off his nose.
” All it takes is a little faith.”
Then he leapt.
I lay on the roof, looking up at the sky, millions of stars skattered around like glitter. I sighed – the universe was so complex and mindblowing, yet beautiful in its unknown wonder.
The roof of my house is red. It is a rusty red, worn out from relentless rain pounding against it every winter, and mercyless sun every summer. My roof has a leek. I hear it dripping every night…..
the sky is the limit of the roof in my mind a place where the only people that rent are the dream suckers and a couple of hairy legged demon dogs flipping panckaes in the air i wish them al luck in their new abode because i will no longer be accompanying them on these ludicrouc and lurid journeys. I am not their keeper i am no mans keeper
I lay on the roof, body shivering in the cold.
“I’m alone,” I sighed, and the stars began to scold.
“Are we not enough? Do we mean nothing at all?
We listen every night, every time that you call.”
So I poured out my heart, every thought, every confession
To my patient audience, the night at my discretion.
The sun came up, and the stars bid me goodbye.
“Don’t ever feel alone,” they said. “You have family in the sky.”
The air around them was so dry that it seemed to crackle with electricity. The baby hairs on her arm stood on end, stretching as if they made to escape their very follicles. The minute she smelled the change in the air, she pulled Jake up to her favorite spot on high–out her bedroom window and onto the small sub-roof of her parent’s house. The smell, the roof, brought back memories her her childhood. Of her first thunderstorm outside in the elements.
Jake touched her shoulder and a sparked arced between them, blue and quick. Unapologetic, he pointed off in the dark distance just beyond the tallest fir tree in the neighborhood.
“I saw a flash. Wait a second, the thunder is coming.”
And indeed it was. one–two–three–four–five seconds later it came rumbling across the rooftops, booming and reverberating off their bare skin. Summer thunderstorms were the best, Shaina knew. The ones without rain, and without wind. The ones that seemed like they were bottled up clouds of anger, releasing in deadly bolts whenever they couldn’t hold any more. The ones where she could stand on the roof and feel like she was the conductor of a supernatural orchestra.
Perhaps the roof wasn’t the safest place to be in a thunderstorm, but that’s exactly what made it thrilling. The risk. To feel her skin prickle and ripple with the electricity and sound, as if her senses were increased, her adrenaline running wild.
A bolt of blue lightning etched itself briefly across the dark sky, its light shadow lingering in their eyes for seconds longer than it existed in reality. one–two–th–and the thunder boomed again.
Shaina threw back her head and laughed.
The roof was on fire. It was a cliche of course, but one that stared her right in the face. The roof was, in fact, on fire. She turned in horror to look the the houses lined down the block, and they too were ablaze. The inferno had spread. All due to a careless cigarette. They say smoking kills. No one knows how quickly though.
Standing there, debating. Keep living life in misery or end
it all? Which would the lonely teenager choose? The shingles of the
roof under his feet…his knees shaking, his face as pale as a
ghost…and then he relaxed. He sat down, took a deep breath and
lit a cigarette…and just thought to himself “nothing is so
horrible that I should want to escape the life I’ve been
dealt.”
It is the roof above me
Blocking danger
But also cutting me off
Forcing me to stare at a blank white slate
Rather that enjoy the infinite pleasures of the night sky
Stupid roof…
Roofs are very weird. I mean, they cover our heads, but they just… I don’t think roofs (or is it rooves?) are very natural. But I suppose they have a human purpose and attachment.
Roof’s are the symbol of shelter. Safety. And I guess that’s what matters.
If I fell off the roof, would anyone care? Probebly not, people aren’t accustom to worrying about things like that. They worry about first-world problems such as nail polish and what wine to drink.
The answers of my world are all locked up on that roof. As I stand at the door, completely bolted down- all hope is lost. The idea that this roof, this physical place that I will never be able to reach unless an “emergency” symbolizes everything about my life. I am standing in front of an emergency exit, with my passion and need to get on this roof over-exceeding my rational, I am ready to try anything but allow the alarm to sound, but no matter what-I am blocked by this door that is bolted shut. Of course.
I once saw someone on top of a school building at night when my cousin and I were turning around in a school parking lot because we were lost. When we stopped and pointed our headlights toward him he jumped down and disappear.
Shingled as such, he never would have considered that the carpet upon which he walked was not, in fact, the most recent layer to be unearthed. Not even close, buckaroo. Even if it seems like a floor to you, what you’ve really got, underneath your there, is a rafter-nest. That’s right, your rocking chair rests on the point of a sloped rain cover, and you don’t even realize the thinness of the air, ’cause it’s just air to you. But it’s ozone, my friend, to all them what came before. All them that gazed out windows which, if gazed out of presently, would yield not but the blackest view of topsoil and clay. All them layers of sediment and dust (dust is made of discarded skin cells, you know) which, working steadily and sleeplessly, aim to bury everything on Earth. And them that’re buried, you’ll see, looking out from their past and through the present windows, wouldn’t see nothin’ but black. You too, buckaroo, looking out your own window. Think you see sky, ain’t seein’ nothing but the black dust a comin’.
My boyfriends room has a giant hole in the ceiling. When it rains it drops water all over the floor and bed, so he has to put a pan under it and we have to sleep downstairs. I don’t want to sleep downstairs. It smells and his dogs have fleas. I don’t want to sleep on a smelly pillow.
it’s on the upper side of home
Roof has a balcony
Roof is a very strong wall
It is not made up of bricks but of concrete
Some roof are stylish
Roof gets the most of sunshine
The top. Something I’ve fallen off of since a small child. Now? In this moment, I’m climbing. Higher and higher until I’m floating. Until I’m flying. Until I hit that ultimatum. Until I breathe again. But not this life. This, what we know, is only a step to what is to come. Our journey is what we do from these roof tops. Do we excel or do we fall. If we fall, it’s only to try again for that apex. Find further. Find life.
Sobre el tejado encontré la pista. Estaba casi listo: mi arma apuntando hacia el suelo, mis uñas pegándosele entre las costillas. No dispararía sin su sonrisa. Poco a poco, fui dejándola caer sobre mis piernas, torciéndole la boca con la suave punta de mis botas suciaas.
there is a roof on the ceiling of my brain and it protects me from the rain especially when the umbrella springs a leak in the center of my heart releasing the depth ofmy soul to the humanity of the world which of course doesn’t exist which is why…
the roof on my head
may collapse
but the roof above that
always has been
and always will be
to roam beneath the open sky
has been man’s nature
always was
and always will be.
The roof covers me but I wouldn’t notice unless it were gone.
He sat on the roof. The sky bleeding red and tangerine as the sunset broke over the house tops. The quaint suburb, with its pale whit houses suddenly stained ruddy as if with blood that was halfway washed off.
The roof is a place some kids would go to die. I go to live.
There on the roof sat a cat. Cat on a hot tin roof? No, the roof was thatch, and the cat sat curiously watching the celebration below.
roof is a place to enjoy the wind. some times people can also do suicides from there. lot of orthopaedic injuries occur there.
We can also watch people there.
the roof was soking wet from the rian coming down outside. We didn’t know what to do to stop it from coming through to the ceiling, down on the floor. Our floor was just new, we just put it in. You must understand how frustrated we were. I mean, come on a soaking wet roof, to a soaking wet, brand new floor. Why us? Why onw? And rigt here at Christmas time to. There goes my wishlist.
top
he sat on the roof, literally kicking off the moss. he only
did it cause he wanted to recreate the song. while he was up there
he noticed the stars and stared. i wonder if this was elton’s
favorite part of being on top of a house too… yeah. as he climbed
down he slipped a little clinging on. damn it elton.
Any roof protects from the world but it narrows it too …
IT COVER S THE HOUSES
In mumbai you dont find roof always , its some time said that in mumbai its easy to find food but its too difficult to fina a roof.
You can keep the sky, all I want is the roof–I’d settle for balancing on two feet, no wings, but a full view of a night speckled with stars.
He was just standing on the roof, ready to jump, when I arrived. I shout : “DON’T !” He looked at me, and just laughed ! He had a camera in his hand and said : “I’m just trying to get the best of the world, and this building seems to be perfect”. When I got closer to him, i saw it. The world was so beautiful.
I sat on the mossy wood-paneled roof, draped in a maroon
blanket, sipping hot cocoa. The streets were slick with
jewel-colored Christmas lights. If I slipped, I’d surely die, or at
least break every last bone.
It goes on top of a house. Ours is green and metal. I don’t like it; the old roof was better-looking. Roofs keep rain out. Some people around here mispronounce roof like it’s woof, the sound a dog makes. There is a hotel chain called Red Roof Inn.
It was cold. The surface of the old, worm shingles
scratched her feet as she scraped slowly over them. There was a
breeze. It lifted the corners of her night gown teasingly, tickling
it’s long, cold fingers on her pale legs.
is on fire. we dont need no water…what a dog would say if he didnt have a speech impediment.
spit spat sputter. car don’t start.
clip clap clutter. rain falls on the roof.
“we can’t go anywhere”, I said.
“so, let’s walk instead”, she said.
“but this is LA and humans run on gasoline”.
so we fell asleep instead.
He was standing on the edge of the roof. Peaking across the edge, he took in a deep breathe as the distance down struck him. He smiled, water from the rain running off his nose.
” All it takes is a little faith.”
Then he leapt.
I lay on the roof, looking up at the sky, millions of stars skattered around like glitter. I sighed – the universe was so complex and mindblowing, yet beautiful in its unknown wonder.
The roof of my house is red. It is a rusty red, worn out from relentless rain pounding against it every winter, and mercyless sun every summer. My roof has a leek. I hear it dripping every night…..
the sky is the limit of the roof in my mind a place where the only people that rent are the dream suckers and a couple of hairy legged demon dogs flipping panckaes in the air i wish them al luck in their new abode because i will no longer be accompanying them on these ludicrouc and lurid journeys. I am not their keeper i am no mans keeper
I lay on the roof, body shivering in the cold.
“I’m alone,” I sighed, and the stars began to scold.
“Are we not enough? Do we mean nothing at all?
We listen every night, every time that you call.”
So I poured out my heart, every thought, every confession
To my patient audience, the night at my discretion.
The sun came up, and the stars bid me goodbye.
“Don’t ever feel alone,” they said. “You have family in the sky.”
The air around them was so dry that it seemed to crackle with electricity. The baby hairs on her arm stood on end, stretching as if they made to escape their very follicles. The minute she smelled the change in the air, she pulled Jake up to her favorite spot on high–out her bedroom window and onto the small sub-roof of her parent’s house. The smell, the roof, brought back memories her her childhood. Of her first thunderstorm outside in the elements.
Jake touched her shoulder and a sparked arced between them, blue and quick. Unapologetic, he pointed off in the dark distance just beyond the tallest fir tree in the neighborhood.
“I saw a flash. Wait a second, the thunder is coming.”
And indeed it was. one–two–three–four–five seconds later it came rumbling across the rooftops, booming and reverberating off their bare skin. Summer thunderstorms were the best, Shaina knew. The ones without rain, and without wind. The ones that seemed like they were bottled up clouds of anger, releasing in deadly bolts whenever they couldn’t hold any more. The ones where she could stand on the roof and feel like she was the conductor of a supernatural orchestra.
Perhaps the roof wasn’t the safest place to be in a thunderstorm, but that’s exactly what made it thrilling. The risk. To feel her skin prickle and ripple with the electricity and sound, as if her senses were increased, her adrenaline running wild.
A bolt of blue lightning etched itself briefly across the dark sky, its light shadow lingering in their eyes for seconds longer than it existed in reality. one–two–th–and the thunder boomed again.
Shaina threw back her head and laughed.
The roof was on fire. It was a cliche of course, but one that stared her right in the face. The roof was, in fact, on fire. She turned in horror to look the the houses lined down the block, and they too were ablaze. The inferno had spread. All due to a careless cigarette. They say smoking kills. No one knows how quickly though.
Standing there, debating. Keep living life in misery or end
it all? Which would the lonely teenager choose? The shingles of the
roof under his feet…his knees shaking, his face as pale as a
ghost…and then he relaxed. He sat down, took a deep breath and
lit a cigarette…and just thought to himself “nothing is so
horrible that I should want to escape the life I’ve been
dealt.”
It is the roof above me
Blocking danger
But also cutting me off
Forcing me to stare at a blank white slate
Rather that enjoy the infinite pleasures of the night sky
Stupid roof…
Roofs are very weird. I mean, they cover our heads, but they just… I don’t think roofs (or is it rooves?) are very natural. But I suppose they have a human purpose and attachment.
Roof’s are the symbol of shelter. Safety. And I guess that’s what matters.
If I fell off the roof, would anyone care? Probebly not, people aren’t accustom to worrying about things like that. They worry about first-world problems such as nail polish and what wine to drink.
The answers of my world are all locked up on that roof. As I stand at the door, completely bolted down- all hope is lost. The idea that this roof, this physical place that I will never be able to reach unless an “emergency” symbolizes everything about my life. I am standing in front of an emergency exit, with my passion and need to get on this roof over-exceeding my rational, I am ready to try anything but allow the alarm to sound, but no matter what-I am blocked by this door that is bolted shut. Of course.
I once saw someone on top of a school building at night when my cousin and I were turning around in a school parking lot because we were lost. When we stopped and pointed our headlights toward him he jumped down and disappear.
Shingled as such, he never would have considered that the carpet upon which he walked was not, in fact, the most recent layer to be unearthed. Not even close, buckaroo. Even if it seems like a floor to you, what you’ve really got, underneath your there, is a rafter-nest. That’s right, your rocking chair rests on the point of a sloped rain cover, and you don’t even realize the thinness of the air, ’cause it’s just air to you. But it’s ozone, my friend, to all them what came before. All them that gazed out windows which, if gazed out of presently, would yield not but the blackest view of topsoil and clay. All them layers of sediment and dust (dust is made of discarded skin cells, you know) which, working steadily and sleeplessly, aim to bury everything on Earth. And them that’re buried, you’ll see, looking out from their past and through the present windows, wouldn’t see nothin’ but black. You too, buckaroo, looking out your own window. Think you see sky, ain’t seein’ nothing but the black dust a comin’.
I miss having a roof. especially on nights like tonight. Hearing the sound of rain hit the roof is the most amazing sound I know.
My boyfriends room has a giant hole in the ceiling. When it rains it drops water all over the floor and bed, so he has to put a pan under it and we have to sleep downstairs. I don’t want to sleep downstairs. It smells and his dogs have fleas. I don’t want to sleep on a smelly pillow.
it’s on the upper side of home
Roof has a balcony
Roof is a very strong wall
It is not made up of bricks but of concrete
Some roof are stylish
Roof gets the most of sunshine
The top. Something I’ve fallen off of since a small child. Now? In this moment, I’m climbing. Higher and higher until I’m floating. Until I’m flying. Until I hit that ultimatum. Until I breathe again. But not this life. This, what we know, is only a step to what is to come. Our journey is what we do from these roof tops. Do we excel or do we fall. If we fall, it’s only to try again for that apex. Find further. Find life.
Sobre el tejado encontré la pista. Estaba casi listo: mi arma apuntando hacia el suelo, mis uñas pegándosele entre las costillas. No dispararía sin su sonrisa. Poco a poco, fui dejándola caer sobre mis piernas, torciéndole la boca con la suave punta de mis botas suciaas.
so tea crawls down my throat
a wave of discomfort
i hate this roof
its broken i just know it
there is a kettle waiting patiently for a drop
so am i