when he saw that movie he cried. he suddenly understood what was happening a few years back. her mother, the darling she was, had spiked her drinks with all kinds of alcohol. it was, in a way, a means for her to bear the atrocities of her mundane life.
She sat on the sidelines watching her team fly about the gymnasium floor, there sneakers squeaking with every movement. Jill the bully from her school stared at her with a smug look, next thing a ball rocketed into her face.
Spiked is the word which remind me of pain. A pain in my butt when I sit on a broken seat in a bus. Bus is a word which reminds me of sleepless nights sitting inside this huge motor vehicle. A nightmare, you know?
He looked down at the photo, at the dull blue eyes and spiked blond hair. He could not believe this was the same little girl he had played with, danced with, told stories to. The angelic smile was gone, in its place a sleepy passive face, with only the slightest trace of a scowl. He had not seen her in almost a year, but she had aged much more than that. And now, the officer had told him, she was lying in the Dallas city morgue, strangled and stabbed by the man she had been living with in a row over drugs.
Spiking. Heightening. It’s the wave of today as far as I can tell, but I live on the outskirts of nowhere to be honest, They’re watching tv in an inset while a movie streams in the background and someone online somewhere is waiting for one to finish a word game turn while drinking tea that has ginger in it and there’s jasmine on the leaves and the potato chips have cheese dust on it or in it and did you know you can get jalapeño or sriracha already ON them? And it’s all happening at the same time while a ticker runs on the bottom of the screen to tell you how much you’ve lost or made. The age of resensitizing will not happen this way, I don’t think, But really, who am I to say. Sometimes, you spike my clouds with sunshine.
One time I spiked my own drink. I was thirteen and me and my friend George Scott, aged 14, got drink for the first time. We went into my basement where my dad kept his alchahol. Fuck it. It’s spelled how it’s spelled.
The humidity spiked when they came to Earth. That should have been a sign of some sort, I guess. They should have known. Hey, the humidity is at an all time high, there MUST be weird ass alien creatures roaming around the city.
Wow! That’s like really strong, where’d you even get this stuff? Grandma stumbled into some random guy at the party. Hey watch it.. oh hello. I’m Mary she said. Don. Don blaise. and that was history
The hedgehog walked over the field, and suddenly he heard a noise. There was a eagle high in the air, and it was swooping down and down. He didn’t panic, because he knew about his natural defenses. The eagle came down and tried to pick him up, and got a nasty shock. The hedgehog had pricked him! So the eagle flew away, and the hedgehog was safe for another day.
The gates were spiked. This old woman must’ve really not wanted visitors. But Jenna was determined to get this story none the less. After taking a long deep breath, she pressed the button to the intercom.
and here we go again. Jess said it was probably alcohol but teh juice taseted lke someone had dropped a new shoe in to it. leather or plastic or rubber, but new and stiff and fake.
Like a vollyball, spiked across the net. Or a drink, spiked with traces of relaxation and dizziness. Or the way you feel when someone betrays you, like you are floating and falling and struck.
He placed the box down infront of her, an eager-to-please look on his face. SHe was sceptical. It could be something she didn’t like… again. But she held her breath and reached out to the box, lifting the lid carefully. The boots were shiny. Black. Spiked. Just like the boots she’d ruined weeks ago. Her face lit up as she poked the metal.
Her drink was spiked, she should’ve known. She had heard stories of this before but she was too trusting that her friend would be keeping an eye on her drink while she went to the bathroom. She pushed her glass away from her in disgust.
Her drink was spiked. She should’ve known to leave her drink unattended when she went to the bathroom. She tried to act normal but it was getting more and more difficult as her mind went fuzzy and lightheaded. She drank as much water as she could, hoping that it would weaken the drugs hold on her but it was futile.
“I need to go,” she said to her friend but she was too into the man she just met on the dance floor to notice the desperation in her voice.
This drink tasted funny. But it was just the right type of strong with a touch of Rophylon. Commonly known as your goto-fuck-therandomgirl-atsaidparty drug.
Plus…Aaron had gotten it for me. So whatever was in it….oh well. It would be a fun morning to remember.
I trailed behind, following him like a puppy into the room behind him, aware of the plan he had for me tonight. It didn’t bother me in the least. He had no idea what I had in store for him. Bring it on…you’ll never get rid of me.
She’d only just raised the glass to her mouth only for her lips to press against the warm skin of Talia’s hand. “Uhm…” she blinked, turning her attention to the woman beside her, “Can I help you with something there, T?”
“You don’t wanna drink that,” the dark-skinned woman said, pulling her hand back only to wipe the palm on the tablecloth.
“Uh, I kinda think I do,”
“Trust me; you don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s spiked; one sip and you’ll be out cold for a week,”
Her hair was slightly greasy, with a cute little curl on her forehead that had curled even more from sleeping on her face during nap time (due to the drool, no doubt). Naiomi put her hands on both sides of baby Mia’s head, and moved them to the center. “Look, she’s going to be a punk rocker!” she said as Mia’s brown hair spiked and curled a little more at the top. Mia giggled hysterically.
Roger knew the punch was spiked, so he stayed away from it. His mother’s shrill voice echoed in his mind as he maneuvered his way to the corner of the living room: “The devil’s drink will destroy the way you think.” It was a foolish rhyme, but it was one that had stuck in the poor eighteen-year-old’s head for years. He would not touch alcohol.
“Beer?” asked his mate Charles, and Roger visibly recoiled from the cup extended to him.
Placed in my drink
poisoned by what I don’t know
made to get me stinking
a trick thought best
when no one thinking
a release to see you to
another place
a sweet release
Perhaps it would have been a kinder sort of mercy if Syaoran had accepted a death penalty from the Council. Of course, none of the sentences would’ve been quick and painless; they would have to put on a show to deter anyone else from rising up against them. Public beheading, burning, perhaps impalement — either way, it was likely that some part of Syaoran’s desecrated body would end up propped on a spike as an example, a warning to anyone else that would dare disrupt the peace.
Aisling couldn’t accept that kind of horror. As Syaoran and the Council had “negotiated”, she could almost see the scenes flashing before her eyes. Closing them wasn’t even necessary. It made her blood run cold and her stomach churn, her heart stop and her head dizzy. She couldn’t imagine it, didn’t want to imagine it, didn’t want to see the person she had come to treasure more than her own self to be destroyed beyond repair, gone — dead.
Perhaps it would have been kinder, to know that he was gone and free from any sort of brief suffering he would experience rather than accepting a fate that would ultimately lead to the same end, but the path would be slower, more painful, and when Aisling thought about it she forgot to breathe because she couldn’t even begin to try and fathom what would happen to Syaoran.
Neither fate was for him. Should be for him.
She tried to plead with him, let herself be taken the same way, to be left behind with Syaoran (after all, wasn’t the traditional marriage vow “’till death do us part?”), but he only gave her a silent, pleading look. It was the kind that he used when he wanted Aisling to stay in bed just a little longer, when he wanted to have just one more cookie from the plate, when he wanted just one more kiss. It was the kind that she couldn’t resist.
And so she let him go. But she could still see the more merciful image burning behind her eyelids — of a serene face and limp body spiked on iron stakes.
Ms. Richardson used to make the best eggnog which was spiked with rum. I have never liked eggnog. It’s too sweet, syrupy like, but boy she’d have you going back for seconds. I miss her.
He didn’t expect it to be spiked, but he can’t say he’s complaining. Life’s always a little more fun tilt-shifted, with his emotions running wild and a grin barely contained on his face. And besides–it gives him an excuse to kiss the nearest stranger.
I remenber of the most part of the games that I ever played. just like Super Smash Bros. Whem Samus and Pikachu and the rest of the characters use some attacks that use spikes. Just it.
Spiked? Spiked… Like spiky hair? :P I like anime characters’ hair like that! The extremely colorful and spiky unrealistic type. It would be cool if real hair could be like that. XD
three glasses of sobriety
too far, and a headache full
of nothing but rustled twig-sheets
as I try and settle in some
semblance of a home,
some semblance of normalcy
because what’s there to look forward
to besides uneventfully rocking
on the porch drinking half&half
and drifting off before the sun
has even cleared the grass of dew.
four glasses of sobriety
too far, and a solace full with
engraved marble and teething earth.
her heart was the first thing i noticed. I had started a new job in a new town for a new fresh start. As i talked to her, others came and went, but she stayed. I noticed more and more about her as the conversation went along. She was sad, lonely. It seemed as if someone had stuck her heart with a spike.
It’s the best way to eat or drink … dash in something very powerful and incredibly delicious to deepen the taste bud experience. To add a dash of vibrancy, of power, of spice to your life.
spiked wristbands cover the wrists of 13 year olds who completely think they have it figured out. god is dead, and fuck your mother. looking at these kids now is incredibly embarrassing to me. at the same time, though, i hope my kids go through the same phase.
The punch, the football, the heels. None of those had any lasting value to me, though they all seemed titillating when I first heard about them.
The barb killed him
but everyone knows
it entered his heart long ago.
when he saw that movie he cried. he suddenly understood what was happening a few years back. her mother, the darling she was, had spiked her drinks with all kinds of alcohol. it was, in a way, a means for her to bear the atrocities of her mundane life.
I was spiked by all the good vibes and gratitiude that I provided as the Universe is so good to me. How can I possibly repay for such a galant act?
She sat on the sidelines watching her team fly about the gymnasium floor, there sneakers squeaking with every movement. Jill the bully from her school stared at her with a smug look, next thing a ball rocketed into her face.
Spiked is the word which remind me of pain. A pain in my butt when I sit on a broken seat in a bus. Bus is a word which reminds me of sleepless nights sitting inside this huge motor vehicle. A nightmare, you know?
He looked down at the photo, at the dull blue eyes and spiked blond hair. He could not believe this was the same little girl he had played with, danced with, told stories to. The angelic smile was gone, in its place a sleepy passive face, with only the slightest trace of a scowl. He had not seen her in almost a year, but she had aged much more than that. And now, the officer had told him, she was lying in the Dallas city morgue, strangled and stabbed by the man she had been living with in a row over drugs.
Spiking. Heightening. It’s the wave of today as far as I can tell, but I live on the outskirts of nowhere to be honest, They’re watching tv in an inset while a movie streams in the background and someone online somewhere is waiting for one to finish a word game turn while drinking tea that has ginger in it and there’s jasmine on the leaves and the potato chips have cheese dust on it or in it and did you know you can get jalapeño or sriracha already ON them? And it’s all happening at the same time while a ticker runs on the bottom of the screen to tell you how much you’ve lost or made. The age of resensitizing will not happen this way, I don’t think, But really, who am I to say. Sometimes, you spike my clouds with sunshine.
One time I spiked my own drink. I was thirteen and me and my friend George Scott, aged 14, got drink for the first time. We went into my basement where my dad kept his alchahol. Fuck it. It’s spelled how it’s spelled.
The humidity spiked when they came to Earth. That should have been a sign of some sort, I guess. They should have known. Hey, the humidity is at an all time high, there MUST be weird ass alien creatures roaming around the city.
Wow! That’s like really strong, where’d you even get this stuff? Grandma stumbled into some random guy at the party. Hey watch it.. oh hello. I’m Mary she said. Don. Don blaise. and that was history
The hedgehog walked over the field, and suddenly he heard a noise. There was a eagle high in the air, and it was swooping down and down. He didn’t panic, because he knew about his natural defenses. The eagle came down and tried to pick him up, and got a nasty shock. The hedgehog had pricked him! So the eagle flew away, and the hedgehog was safe for another day.
The gates were spiked. This old woman must’ve really not wanted visitors. But Jenna was determined to get this story none the less. After taking a long deep breath, she pressed the button to the intercom.
and here we go again. Jess said it was probably alcohol but teh juice taseted lke someone had dropped a new shoe in to it. leather or plastic or rubber, but new and stiff and fake.
Like a vollyball, spiked across the net. Or a drink, spiked with traces of relaxation and dizziness. Or the way you feel when someone betrays you, like you are floating and falling and struck.
He placed the box down infront of her, an eager-to-please look on his face. SHe was sceptical. It could be something she didn’t like… again. But she held her breath and reached out to the box, lifting the lid carefully. The boots were shiny. Black. Spiked. Just like the boots she’d ruined weeks ago. Her face lit up as she poked the metal.
The drink was spiked, but no one knew.
Her drink was spiked, she should’ve known. She had heard stories of this before but she was too trusting that her friend would be keeping an eye on her drink while she went to the bathroom. She pushed her glass away from her in disgust.
Her drink was spiked. She should’ve known to leave her drink unattended when she went to the bathroom. She tried to act normal but it was getting more and more difficult as her mind went fuzzy and lightheaded. She drank as much water as she could, hoping that it would weaken the drugs hold on her but it was futile.
“I need to go,” she said to her friend but she was too into the man she just met on the dance floor to notice the desperation in her voice.
This drink tasted funny. But it was just the right type of strong with a touch of Rophylon. Commonly known as your goto-fuck-therandomgirl-atsaidparty drug.
Plus…Aaron had gotten it for me. So whatever was in it….oh well. It would be a fun morning to remember.
I trailed behind, following him like a puppy into the room behind him, aware of the plan he had for me tonight. It didn’t bother me in the least. He had no idea what I had in store for him. Bring it on…you’ll never get rid of me.
Your love was a spike for my heart. It hurted badly but without it i was sure as hell nothing.
She’d only just raised the glass to her mouth only for her lips to press against the warm skin of Talia’s hand. “Uhm…” she blinked, turning her attention to the woman beside her, “Can I help you with something there, T?”
“You don’t wanna drink that,” the dark-skinned woman said, pulling her hand back only to wipe the palm on the tablecloth.
“Uh, I kinda think I do,”
“Trust me; you don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s spiked; one sip and you’ll be out cold for a week,”
Her hair was slightly greasy, with a cute little curl on her forehead that had curled even more from sleeping on her face during nap time (due to the drool, no doubt). Naiomi put her hands on both sides of baby Mia’s head, and moved them to the center. “Look, she’s going to be a punk rocker!” she said as Mia’s brown hair spiked and curled a little more at the top. Mia giggled hysterically.
Roger knew the punch was spiked, so he stayed away from it. His mother’s shrill voice echoed in his mind as he maneuvered his way to the corner of the living room: “The devil’s drink will destroy the way you think.” It was a foolish rhyme, but it was one that had stuck in the poor eighteen-year-old’s head for years. He would not touch alcohol.
“Beer?” asked his mate Charles, and Roger visibly recoiled from the cup extended to him.
Placed in my drink
poisoned by what I don’t know
made to get me stinking
a trick thought best
when no one thinking
a release to see you to
another place
a sweet release
while she seemed innocent and fragile, her heart was spiked. it kept the pain away, but the problem was sometimes it kept the happiness away too…
You spiked my drink you low life scum. You spiked my drink so you could cum. You spiked my drink you wanted some. You spiked my drink or else I’d run.
Perhaps it would have been a kinder sort of mercy if Syaoran had accepted a death penalty from the Council. Of course, none of the sentences would’ve been quick and painless; they would have to put on a show to deter anyone else from rising up against them. Public beheading, burning, perhaps impalement — either way, it was likely that some part of Syaoran’s desecrated body would end up propped on a spike as an example, a warning to anyone else that would dare disrupt the peace.
Aisling couldn’t accept that kind of horror. As Syaoran and the Council had “negotiated”, she could almost see the scenes flashing before her eyes. Closing them wasn’t even necessary. It made her blood run cold and her stomach churn, her heart stop and her head dizzy. She couldn’t imagine it, didn’t want to imagine it, didn’t want to see the person she had come to treasure more than her own self to be destroyed beyond repair, gone — dead.
Perhaps it would have been kinder, to know that he was gone and free from any sort of brief suffering he would experience rather than accepting a fate that would ultimately lead to the same end, but the path would be slower, more painful, and when Aisling thought about it she forgot to breathe because she couldn’t even begin to try and fathom what would happen to Syaoran.
Neither fate was for him. Should be for him.
She tried to plead with him, let herself be taken the same way, to be left behind with Syaoran (after all, wasn’t the traditional marriage vow “’till death do us part?”), but he only gave her a silent, pleading look. It was the kind that he used when he wanted Aisling to stay in bed just a little longer, when he wanted to have just one more cookie from the plate, when he wanted just one more kiss. It was the kind that she couldn’t resist.
And so she let him go. But she could still see the more merciful image burning behind her eyelids — of a serene face and limp body spiked on iron stakes.
Ms. Richardson used to make the best eggnog which was spiked with rum. I have never liked eggnog. It’s too sweet, syrupy like, but boy she’d have you going back for seconds. I miss her.
He didn’t expect it to be spiked, but he can’t say he’s complaining. Life’s always a little more fun tilt-shifted, with his emotions running wild and a grin barely contained on his face. And besides–it gives him an excuse to kiss the nearest stranger.
There is no ball.
There is no drink.
There is no pulse..
There is only silence in this space.
It´s strange! That´s not something I´m used to think about, but something like pain and hurt come to my mind…
I remenber of the most part of the games that I ever played. just like Super Smash Bros. Whem Samus and Pikachu and the rest of the characters use some attacks that use spikes. Just it.
Spiked? Spiked… Like spiky hair? :P I like anime characters’ hair like that! The extremely colorful and spiky unrealistic type. It would be cool if real hair could be like that. XD
three glasses of sobriety
too far, and a headache full
of nothing but rustled twig-sheets
as I try and settle in some
semblance of a home,
some semblance of normalcy
because what’s there to look forward
to besides uneventfully rocking
on the porch drinking half&half
and drifting off before the sun
has even cleared the grass of dew.
four glasses of sobriety
too far, and a solace full with
engraved marble and teething earth.
her heart was the first thing i noticed. I had started a new job in a new town for a new fresh start. As i talked to her, others came and went, but she stayed. I noticed more and more about her as the conversation went along. She was sad, lonely. It seemed as if someone had stuck her heart with a spike.
The punch at the party was spiked, which was nice, but unexpected. I’ll have to talk to the host to find out what was in it.
It’s the best way to eat or drink … dash in something very powerful and incredibly delicious to deepen the taste bud experience. To add a dash of vibrancy, of power, of spice to your life.
spiked wristbands cover the wrists of 13 year olds who completely think they have it figured out. god is dead, and fuck your mother. looking at these kids now is incredibly embarrassing to me. at the same time, though, i hope my kids go through the same phase.
My blood presher spiked when he told me my dog had died.