the sodden, disheveled sponge lay discarded on the bathroom floor. a vicitim of a recent bathing mutiny, he was tossed overboard and left to weep upon the tiles.
It’s so freezing in this goddamned place. The cold air in this cave is sucking up all the warmth from my body. The wretched damnable wind whisked away my hat, and I can feel the heat oozing out of my head steadily. This is a freezing death trap, this is.
I wish, oh do i wish, it was so simple I could pick up a sponge and soak up the whole mess. The sponge becomes saturated, and I escape free. Free of trying so hard for something that only gets farther away. The sponge takes my weight, and I fly.
The sponge lay in the sink, wondering when his next task would be. The suds were nice and warm and he lay there listening to the bubbles pop around him. He did a backstroke as he moved around the sink, moving around the forks and spoons.
He sucked the energy out of me like a sponge. Taking any happiness, and exuberance out of my life and leaving me with nothing. He grew and expanded with love and happiness and I shrunk into nothing but a dried up entity.
I hate when my sponge in the kitchen gets all nasty. It starts to smell of dirty socks. Usually I try to get rid of them before it gets that bad, but sometimes when you don’t have a spare on hand it infringes on your ability to do the dishes. So I begrudgingly use the smelly sponge and hope the way I douse it with soap combats the funk.
at times i absorb the world around me
seek to take it all in
but i get the bad with the good
it weighs me down
and while others are better
i am worse
just like a sponge
expendable
Sponges get dirty
Their absorption ability is appealing
They feel more substantial in hands
Than a dish rag
But they draw in much more than soapy water
And as they sit, it grows
Soon causing more harm
Than cleanliness
The sponge is soft and sponegous in a sea of ocean blue neckties and cobblestone creek butterflies. My father told me one day to never put the sponge into a leak in the universe or it would soak up the entire world and my father would be upset if I did such a deed.
I soaked up your lies like a sponge and squeezed them out in every facet of my life. Sudsy, slippery lies pouring into the cracks and dissolving the glue that held everything important together.
They are like a sponge, little ones. They take it all in and then run down the street with it sharing, “Do you know what I know? May I share the good news of what I know with you?” They literally drip with the excess, what is left over – mostly her own enthusiasm. “I love life!” the little ones exude. They didn’t know they had the choice to hate everything. Yet.
The grass was spongy from all the rain- a nice change from the dry, crunchy grass it had been just weeks earlier. The world had been drenched again and again, restoring itself and reviving the seemingly dead plants. It was rather poetic: a dead world come alive again.
off my friends all the time when i was an active alcoholic. now that im sober, i have found myself homless, and i don’t even want to ask my friends or family if i can stay with them for a few days, because i don’t want to sponge off of anyone anymore. it’s pitiful. they all still love me,which i am infinitly grateful for
I picked up the kitchen sponge that lay moldering on the side of the steel sink. It was yellow, but stained with old tomato sauce and bits and pieces of old food. It smelled atrocious and when I showed it to my mother, she simply said “I haven’t had time to run to the store and buy another.”
it’s the core of thought.
soaks up water.
thoughts.
spills of all kinds.
and lives under the sea.
it’s how one soaks up
experience.
both the good and the bad.
And makes up a basis
of understanding
and comfort.
I’m looking for a sponge.
You know, a person.
A person who can take every bit of love and care from me and keep it in them, and feel like they were made to be full with my giving.
She was a little sponge; she couldn’t get enough information. When she was eighteen months old, I realized that I was not woman enough for her. the world was her oyster.
She saw the pile of oranges stacked outside the grocery. They seemed to simmer beneath the sun, turn liquid, as if melting. She’d taken the pill thirteen hours earlier. How could the effects still be this strong?
the sponge woke up and cooked a Krabby pattie for Mr. Krabs. He gave it to the costumer. the squidward threw it on patricks face where Sandy cheeks came in to save the day from plankton.
a goldfish sponge. a sponge i guess is my unintended fate for my pathetic loneliness and pleasure in being outcasted by my own self conscious. though i know in the long run it is a good thing. it is not always necessary to be surrounded by nonstop worthless bullshit just to feel happy in the short time. for the time being, i enjoy being nothing more than a sponge with no real output into the universe, except through cyberspace.
like a sponge, my brain just absorbed everything in my surrounding environment. the drug really was working, like a massive computer with input peripherals, i was taking everything in.
A sponge and again I come back to my mind as a metaphor. My mind as a sponge or not so much any more. It got that dried up and smelly texture that can be reproduced by wiping up vomit and leaving the sponge in the sun to wrinkle and dry.
There was a tiny sponge sitting on the counter. I picked it up, dreading the work to come. I started scrubbing effortlessly, knowing the beating would be coming.
the sodden, disheveled sponge lay discarded on the bathroom floor. a vicitim of a recent bathing mutiny, he was tossed overboard and left to weep upon the tiles.
a sponge is like that of no other being on earth. yellow, green, and fibrous, it is the hivemind of a billion bacteria.
irony.
It’s so freezing in this goddamned place. The cold air in this cave is sucking up all the warmth from my body. The wretched damnable wind whisked away my hat, and I can feel the heat oozing out of my head steadily. This is a freezing death trap, this is.
I wish, oh do i wish, it was so simple I could pick up a sponge and soak up the whole mess. The sponge becomes saturated, and I escape free. Free of trying so hard for something that only gets farther away. The sponge takes my weight, and I fly.
i’m all fluffy and soaked with emotions
suds all around
bubbles burst
white suds
yellow detergent
and sometimes i like to be squeezed
dry
i’m all fluffy and soaked with emotions
suds all around
bubbles burst
white suds
yellow detergent
and sometimes i like to be squeezed
dry
The sponge lay in the sink, wondering when his next task would be. The suds were nice and warm and he lay there listening to the bubbles pop around him. He did a backstroke as he moved around the sink, moving around the forks and spoons.
He sucked the energy out of me like a sponge. Taking any happiness, and exuberance out of my life and leaving me with nothing. He grew and expanded with love and happiness and I shrunk into nothing but a dried up entity.
I hate when my sponge in the kitchen gets all nasty. It starts to smell of dirty socks. Usually I try to get rid of them before it gets that bad, but sometimes when you don’t have a spare on hand it infringes on your ability to do the dishes. So I begrudgingly use the smelly sponge and hope the way I douse it with soap combats the funk.
at times i absorb the world around me
seek to take it all in
but i get the bad with the good
it weighs me down
and while others are better
i am worse
just like a sponge
expendable
Sponges get dirty
Their absorption ability is appealing
They feel more substantial in hands
Than a dish rag
But they draw in much more than soapy water
And as they sit, it grows
Soon causing more harm
Than cleanliness
The sponge is soft and sponegous in a sea of ocean blue neckties and cobblestone creek butterflies. My father told me one day to never put the sponge into a leak in the universe or it would soak up the entire world and my father would be upset if I did such a deed.
I soaked up your lies like a sponge and squeezed them out in every facet of my life. Sudsy, slippery lies pouring into the cracks and dissolving the glue that held everything important together.
you are the sponge
to my words
soaking up the bitterness
and giving them back
with clear understanding
I soaked up your lies like a sponge and squeezed them out in every facet of my life. Sudsy, slippery lies.
They are like a sponge, little ones. They take it all in and then run down the street with it sharing, “Do you know what I know? May I share the good news of what I know with you?” They literally drip with the excess, what is left over – mostly her own enthusiasm. “I love life!” the little ones exude. They didn’t know they had the choice to hate everything. Yet.
The grass was spongy from all the rain- a nice change from the dry, crunchy grass it had been just weeks earlier. The world had been drenched again and again, restoring itself and reviving the seemingly dead plants. It was rather poetic: a dead world come alive again.
off my friends all the time when i was an active alcoholic. now that im sober, i have found myself homless, and i don’t even want to ask my friends or family if i can stay with them for a few days, because i don’t want to sponge off of anyone anymore. it’s pitiful. they all still love me,which i am infinitly grateful for
I picked up the kitchen sponge that lay moldering on the side of the steel sink. It was yellow, but stained with old tomato sauce and bits and pieces of old food. It smelled atrocious and when I showed it to my mother, she simply said “I haven’t had time to run to the store and buy another.”
anchored, fulfilled, dragged up to dry on a sink, awaiting daily dead skin scrub,sigh
doing presently
pursuing
Sponges are living creatures, too. Ask Bob. Ask Pat.
like a sponge i soak up all around me
you cannot get anything out of me
unless you wring and wring and well,
that hurts
i prefer to keep things inside myself
you cannot tell how much i hide
it’s the core of thought.
soaks up water.
thoughts.
spills of all kinds.
and lives under the sea.
it’s how one soaks up
experience.
both the good and the bad.
And makes up a basis
of understanding
and comfort.
soggy absorbing clump of fleshy mass…. you clean me and touch my skin and a rough watery moment I feel we are one. I am a sponge
yu
living under the sea under the deep blue sea its a sponge open to the sea aneomes
water wet wash your car wash yourself under the sea brown dirty clean soft squeeze drip dishes palmolive scrub holey sponge bob square pants
I’m looking for a sponge.
You know, a person.
A person who can take every bit of love and care from me and keep it in them, and feel like they were made to be full with my giving.
soak dirty bacteria soap yellow green cut paint wash scrub floor sink
Greek fishermen dive for these animals. They can be so colorful. We don’t have any in our aquarium – even though it is a saltwater tank. Sponges
She was a little sponge; she couldn’t get enough information. When she was eighteen months old, I realized that I was not woman enough for her. the world was her oyster.
sponge soaking up sucking holes filling but still holes become heavier as wet
She saw the pile of oranges stacked outside the grocery. They seemed to simmer beneath the sun, turn liquid, as if melting. She’d taken the pill thirteen hours earlier. How could the effects still be this strong?
the sponge woke up and cooked a Krabby pattie for Mr. Krabs. He gave it to the costumer. the squidward threw it on patricks face where Sandy cheeks came in to save the day from plankton.
a goldfish sponge. a sponge i guess is my unintended fate for my pathetic loneliness and pleasure in being outcasted by my own self conscious. though i know in the long run it is a good thing. it is not always necessary to be surrounded by nonstop worthless bullshit just to feel happy in the short time. for the time being, i enjoy being nothing more than a sponge with no real output into the universe, except through cyberspace.
like a sponge, my brain just absorbed everything in my surrounding environment. the drug really was working, like a massive computer with input peripherals, i was taking everything in.
A sponge and again I come back to my mind as a metaphor. My mind as a sponge or not so much any more. It got that dried up and smelly texture that can be reproduced by wiping up vomit and leaving the sponge in the sun to wrinkle and dry.
hii i don’t know what can i write in this time..but i want to read something like science writings.
There was a tiny sponge sitting on the counter. I picked it up, dreading the work to come. I started scrubbing effortlessly, knowing the beating would be coming.