oh sheet i forgot my homework. you’re three sheets to the wind which is a not so clever way of saying your totes drunk but people use it anyway. never really got that. sheet. like a ghost. cuz everyone knows there’s no better way to represent the dead than by poking two holes in a white sheet and saying “boooo!”
My sheets never stay flat. They bunch and crumple and pull up from under my bed. Feet get cold in the night when sheets are gone-scrunched around my waist like a belt holding nothing.
paper mache hearts filled with candy burst on all hallow’s eve…girl, you have bewitched me and your twitching under the sheets has kept me close, holding you as you seize in the night from terrors that you can only describe as “spiders with hands that kept asking for more.” you scare me white, like paper.
A sheet of paper landed randomly on my desk one day, I was curious but I decided not to investigate it further. Instead I balled it up and threw it in the bin. Thinking back it could have been anything. It could have been important. I wish I hadn’t done that.
My bed sheets are a prison. In my state, I can’t seem to escape them. With the losses I’ve been handed, with the success that’s been eluding me today, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get out of bed and away from it’s comfort… if only to open the blinds.
I can’t see his delirious grin beneath the sheet into which I have cut two holes, but I can sense it in the eyes that peer out at me through them. I can’t help but smile warmly at my little boy, thinking of Charlie Brown the entire time and hoping this little ghost’s luck isn’t similar to the hapless cartoon character on this magical night.
I started sketching on a sheet of paper,
trying to find the words or artistic licences that would portray the meaning of that night to me,
tangled in your sheets,
drinking in your sweet scent.
But I am at a loss and can never capture that moment again.
One that cold gray morning as day break broke into their final sleep they both felt the tug on their sheet. Something was puling it ever so slowly off the bed.
Curling up in the early morning. Rolling over, exhausted.
She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to unfurl the synthetic cocoon around her. For now, she was safe, harboured in her dreams. Nothing could touch her here.
sheet i dont know hey hi hello im going to talk about my mom instead sorry mom everyday she has to say something about me finding a boyfriend no nope sorry mom boys dont like me nobody does never going to get married or have a friend ever again so great fabulous ill just end up adopting a child and hopefully he or she will love me okay yeah sounds pretty good to me mom please leave me alone dad please leave me alone i know i dont hang out with anyone anymore okay i know i dont have friends please leave me alone please please please okay please
Bedsheets. They need washing today. I used to hide under my bedsheets when I was a child (I still do, when life gets too stressful). Either that or I would build forts for my little brothers and I. I was great at making castles from them as a child. :)
I want to buy some new sheets. Mine don’t really fit my bed that well. They’re stained and I don’teven like their design. I mean, sheets can tell you a lot about a person. But I don’t know, maybe my sheets are good for me. They’re not exactly OLD or anything and I mean, I did like them at one time.
The sheet was soft blue. It looked like silk the way it flowed so smoothly across the bed. I felt like caressing the soft waves, but when I looked up into the light blue eyes staring down at me, I knew that soon, those soft waves would break into a storm around us.
my sheet is wet. i’m crying. do you want a sheet of paper? the words are mixed up by the tears. the ink is dripping from my soul. my pen is dying. there is fog in my mind and in my hands.
Awwwwwww sheet, son. We done gone did got us a vaaaaaacuuuuum. Ha-haaaawwww, we so flaT. I can come yesterday without it and be all BwAAAAH but you know I ain’t what how that.
The lustrous fields of white linen sheets ran smoothly over her arms. The thick fresh laundry smell wafted in the air. A scream, a shot, and those white sheets turned red.
Sheets. I love to buy them. I hate to wash them. I like flannel ones the best. My favorite happens to be purple.
Sheets of white crisp paper make me happy . . . waiting for something creative to happen to them. There are lots of white paper sheets on my kids’ writing table now.
I curl the paper up and throw it away, among the hundreds of thousands of papers already in the pile. I take a new sheet, sketch the premises of a new drawing. Lovers in the rain. But it’s not beautiful, and so their story fades into the trash pile with the rest, as if it has never existed.
One sheet to rule them all. To held them in cages and get them to write something useful, something entertaining. The white color of the sheet shall not stay white, it shall get written and full of information for the reader.
one word to write about a sheet. a sheet of paper. a sheet on the bed. what is this supposed to get up? is this just an exercise? something to help us in our writing skills? a sheet. a sheet of paper is used in writing. i wonder why sheet. i was at least hoping for a better word. what’s happening now?
the sheets lay in front of me, tampered and leaving a scent of lies. lies that have destroyed a relationship that was so promising and new. a relationship that brought the feeling of comfort even in a time of destruction.
A sheet is something you write on, its a blank canvas, its somethng which has limitless potential, it can show dreams, love, all of mankind’s folly or a picture of a poo. It is beautiful, it is man’s everything.
Sheets here don’t stay on the bed. They slip and slide all over the place and it is really annoying. I ended up taking the unfitted sheet off my bed because it just ended up all over the place. I now have my fleece blanket over top of the fitted sheet to help keep that in place. And then I just fold my quilt nicely and lay it on my bed because the beds are way to freaking hard to make.
I don’t like crisp sheets. I like soft, comfy sheets that smell good. Like lavender or jasmine. I do like clean, crisp sheets of paper to write on and doodle or paint on.
There are so many different interpretations for the word “sheet”. One could be rolling around in the sheets with the one they love. You could also say that sheets of granite are quite heavy and expensive, but beautiful.
A blank sheet of paper, with so many opportunities to be anything. Offensive, maybe. A highlight to someone’s day, maybe. Or maybe it’ll remain blank, and it will say the most.
I don’t even have a damn sheet of paper to start writing on. And here they go, just pushing me on the soles of my feet in some attempt to get me to squeeze out a little gem.
He’s carrying around sheets of paper, so many that I’m afraid they’re going to fly away as the first hint of a breeze. It would be almost tragic, as if those sheets represented his life and longings, that their fluttering up and away would come to mean the loss of his everything.
thin, crisp linen. cool when hot, scratchy on tender thighs. linen is not appropriate for babies and the very old. then flannel sheets, soft and rolled, quiet, warm.
it is a blank sheet of paper a symbol of life past no longer a blank sheet but one with colors and such on it that it is difficult to see what was once underneath before
oh sheet i forgot my homework. you’re three sheets to the wind which is a not so clever way of saying your totes drunk but people use it anyway. never really got that. sheet. like a ghost. cuz everyone knows there’s no better way to represent the dead than by poking two holes in a white sheet and saying “boooo!”
She carefully pulled the sheet off her head and looked around. The sun was just about to come up… She had just enough time to do one last crazy thing.
My sheets never stay flat. They bunch and crumple and pull up from under my bed. Feet get cold in the night when sheets are gone-scrunched around my waist like a belt holding nothing.
as the creame,fluffy,snow sheet rained down.
paper mache hearts filled with candy burst on all hallow’s eve…girl, you have bewitched me and your twitching under the sheets has kept me close, holding you as you seize in the night from terrors that you can only describe as “spiders with hands that kept asking for more.” you scare me white, like paper.
A sheet of paper landed randomly on my desk one day, I was curious but I decided not to investigate it further. Instead I balled it up and threw it in the bin. Thinking back it could have been anything. It could have been important. I wish I hadn’t done that.
a blank space on which to daub my thoughts, perhaps reflect a little my past.
My bed sheets are a prison. In my state, I can’t seem to escape them. With the losses I’ve been handed, with the success that’s been eluding me today, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get out of bed and away from it’s comfort… if only to open the blinds.
Getting into a bed with clean, crisp sheets is one of greatest feelings in the world. So is sliding on a sheet of ice, whee!
I place a selection of words upon the palette of my mind with which I will paint images upon the canvases of imagination and the empty sheets of soul
I can’t see his delirious grin beneath the sheet into which I have cut two holes, but I can sense it in the eyes that peer out at me through them. I can’t help but smile warmly at my little boy, thinking of Charlie Brown the entire time and hoping this little ghost’s luck isn’t similar to the hapless cartoon character on this magical night.
I started sketching on a sheet of paper,
trying to find the words or artistic licences that would portray the meaning of that night to me,
tangled in your sheets,
drinking in your sweet scent.
But I am at a loss and can never capture that moment again.
One that cold gray morning as day break broke into their final sleep they both felt the tug on their sheet. Something was puling it ever so slowly off the bed.
Curling up in the early morning. Rolling over, exhausted.
She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to unfurl the synthetic cocoon around her. For now, she was safe, harboured in her dreams. Nothing could touch her here.
sheet i dont know hey hi hello im going to talk about my mom instead sorry mom everyday she has to say something about me finding a boyfriend no nope sorry mom boys dont like me nobody does never going to get married or have a friend ever again so great fabulous ill just end up adopting a child and hopefully he or she will love me okay yeah sounds pretty good to me mom please leave me alone dad please leave me alone i know i dont hang out with anyone anymore okay i know i dont have friends please leave me alone please please please okay please
Bedsheets. They need washing today. I used to hide under my bedsheets when I was a child (I still do, when life gets too stressful). Either that or I would build forts for my little brothers and I. I was great at making castles from them as a child. :)
I want to buy some new sheets. Mine don’t really fit my bed that well. They’re stained and I don’teven like their design. I mean, sheets can tell you a lot about a person. But I don’t know, maybe my sheets are good for me. They’re not exactly OLD or anything and I mean, I did like them at one time.
The sheet was soft blue. It looked like silk the way it flowed so smoothly across the bed. I felt like caressing the soft waves, but when I looked up into the light blue eyes staring down at me, I knew that soon, those soft waves would break into a storm around us.
my sheet is wet. i’m crying. do you want a sheet of paper? the words are mixed up by the tears. the ink is dripping from my soul. my pen is dying. there is fog in my mind and in my hands.
Awwwwwww sheet, son. We done gone did got us a vaaaaaacuuuuum. Ha-haaaawwww, we so flaT. I can come yesterday without it and be all BwAAAAH but you know I ain’t what how that.
The lustrous fields of white linen sheets ran smoothly over her arms. The thick fresh laundry smell wafted in the air. A scream, a shot, and those white sheets turned red.
Sheets. I love to buy them. I hate to wash them. I like flannel ones the best. My favorite happens to be purple.
Sheets of white crisp paper make me happy . . . waiting for something creative to happen to them. There are lots of white paper sheets on my kids’ writing table now.
I woke up this morning, i didnt want to leave my bed and go to school, people at school stress me out because i once told mke i liked him and he
I curl the paper up and throw it away, among the hundreds of thousands of papers already in the pile. I take a new sheet, sketch the premises of a new drawing. Lovers in the rain. But it’s not beautiful, and so their story fades into the trash pile with the rest, as if it has never existed.
of paper…or maybe not. Its thin and rectangular. With dimensions and thickness. The form of a solid material.
One sheet to rule them all. To held them in cages and get them to write something useful, something entertaining. The white color of the sheet shall not stay white, it shall get written and full of information for the reader.
one word to write about a sheet. a sheet of paper. a sheet on the bed. what is this supposed to get up? is this just an exercise? something to help us in our writing skills? a sheet. a sheet of paper is used in writing. i wonder why sheet. i was at least hoping for a better word. what’s happening now?
the sheets lay in front of me, tampered and leaving a scent of lies. lies that have destroyed a relationship that was so promising and new. a relationship that brought the feeling of comfort even in a time of destruction.
A sheet is something you write on, its a blank canvas, its somethng which has limitless potential, it can show dreams, love, all of mankind’s folly or a picture of a poo. It is beautiful, it is man’s everything.
Sheets here don’t stay on the bed. They slip and slide all over the place and it is really annoying. I ended up taking the unfitted sheet off my bed because it just ended up all over the place. I now have my fleece blanket over top of the fitted sheet to help keep that in place. And then I just fold my quilt nicely and lay it on my bed because the beds are way to freaking hard to make.
I don’t like crisp sheets. I like soft, comfy sheets that smell good. Like lavender or jasmine. I do like clean, crisp sheets of paper to write on and doodle or paint on.
There are so many different interpretations for the word “sheet”. One could be rolling around in the sheets with the one they love. You could also say that sheets of granite are quite heavy and expensive, but beautiful.
A blank sheet of paper, with so many opportunities to be anything. Offensive, maybe. A highlight to someone’s day, maybe. Or maybe it’ll remain blank, and it will say the most.
a
I don’t even have a damn sheet of paper to start writing on. And here they go, just pushing me on the soles of my feet in some attempt to get me to squeeze out a little gem.
“He’s as white as a bedsheet. Unless he’s choking. Then he gets a little color.”
Not mine. From the play scene I’m rehearsing.
So weird to attach the word “rehearsing” with “I”.
He’s carrying around sheets of paper, so many that I’m afraid they’re going to fly away as the first hint of a breeze. It would be almost tragic, as if those sheets represented his life and longings, that their fluttering up and away would come to mean the loss of his everything.
thin, crisp linen. cool when hot, scratchy on tender thighs. linen is not appropriate for babies and the very old. then flannel sheets, soft and rolled, quiet, warm.
warm sheets after a long summers day. cotton security against night’s embrace.
it is a blank sheet of paper a symbol of life past no longer a blank sheet but one with colors and such on it that it is difficult to see what was once underneath before