I was high strung. Why wouldn’t I be? One puff on the kon-jo and I was flying. It was my first time, it shoulda been my last time. But Id become high-strung because I wouldnt be able to get enough. Isn’t that irony? My greatest love stemmed from my deepest fear… Or is it the other way around?
I strung the string through the hook, making sure everythinhg was sacure and tight. then, hart pounding, i watched the girl, Emiline, jump off the bridge, and watched her bounce back up right before hitting the bottom.
“OHMYGOSH GUYS THAT WAS WAAAAY COOL!!!” she exclaimed to her friends. “Thanks sooo much Annabell!” she said to me.
one time i was struging and thenjds kdckdshfksdfvjdglkfdjglkdjfglkdjglkdjgdlfkgjdflkjgdflgkjdfghniuhgnjktplayhubcfjgvfdjhgnofjdfgjfdgljdflgjdflgjdflgjldkgjdflgkjghjfjkgdkjghdfkgjhdkjghfgkhdfjghdhgdgkh5ui586u45tjgfvnjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuukkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkklllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
so many lines in my hands
so many needle points and holes
invaded, penetrated by currents that hold me to something else
I am strung up by too many rules
when it came in the mail, i realized that it was not ready to play. it had been so long since i had to do it, but i couldnt wait for a friend to help me. my ukulele had to be strung that very moment. my fingers needed it. (true story =] )
I remember listening to a college radio show not too long ago and the DJ played a song by Strung Out. I couldn’t remember the name of the song, or how it went but it was really good. I can hum part of it but that rarely helps. I hope to hear that song again some day.
One by one, she strung pearls. They were beautiful, lustrous and smooth, and they fell gracefully over her hand as she played with the strand. They were not the perfect white pearls, or even perfect spheres, but freshwater nuggets in varying shades of pink and peach.
All strung out. He was trashed. Such an easy target. Should I? I mean, when one cannot defend themselves, it’s considered almost sissy to bring such an end down on someone in such a state. Eh, to hell with it.
Minutes later, I lowered the rock to his forehead.
The Christmas cards were strung across the banister for months. It was July and still the Christmas cards were there. If I leave them up long enough, they’ll become decorations next Christmas.
“In from the out!” This was his life advice and excuse for all wicked acts he would perform on his unknowing victims. He got it from how his father taught him to tie the rope around his cousin’s throat.
strung out from the drugs last night and wound tight from the pain in my head. i tell myself never again, but thats a lie, cuz i’d rather be strung out than strung along.
Im so strung out i dont know where to go, I have no place to hide and no one to know. I leave home at night, hoping no one will see me and one day ill try to escape here and be free
strung out like a bee with a lack of flowers, thats how i felt. i mean sure there were flowers, maybe one or two, but not any substantial amount. how do expect one to survive like this. really, people these days.
heroin takes its toll but nothing drains the body like falling in love again and again and again, stringing you along, taking you into the sky and slamming you into the rocks of Andromeda and her beast. nothing can save you from it, it comes out of nowhere, kicks you in the face, says “you’re mine, bitch” and there you go, you’re in love once again, and you know life will become a living, breathing, cold hell. It’s over. your life as you know it is over and you will never for an instant look back and regret it, you will insist you would never change it for anything in the world, and there you go along, falling and falling and falling only to find out you are on the same string as before.
I place my heartstrings on a string and strum on that ill-fated guitar. it knows the tune, out of tune it may be, but it still is a tune. one that my soul knows well, the rhythm of the words that cry silently in the wind of my eternal desire, my destiny of strength.
He was strung up at midday, and the noon sun cast an eerie shadow on the ground. Pinned to his shirt, there stood his crime, so all in the land would know what he had done, and what the price for betrayal of the crown would be.
Oh, I’ve definitely seen this word before on here. The problem is that it was pretty recent, so I actually remember what I wrote. It was about some woman, being strung up because of a stressful life. I even remember using the phrase “frayed nerves” in it. A lack of variety in these words definitely stifles my creativity.
First repeat I’ve gotten. I still think of you while I’m writing, because I wrote about you the first time I got this word. You’re usually in the back of my mind when I write, now. It colors my work differently, and when I want to write something else, something more original, it still in some small way relates to you. Whether it’s a characters mannerisms, or something more concrete, like having a musical profession. I can’t escape it, and it’s rather annoying sometimes how my brain just won’t frigging let go of you. But I don’t want to forget you. I’m not sure I ever will.
Strung. Ein strenger Strung strunkte mitten im Feld herum. Er stand da, ganz streng blickte er auf all die kleinen Gänseblümchen und Radieschen, Vogelmiere, Unkräutlein und er sagte: der einzige richtige Strung hier bin ich.
Another celebration beckons, no snow this year, just the dull grey of a miserable december, however, the warmth is in everyones window, colourful decorations strung like pheasants at the butcher.
He was highly strung sitting there in the corner. Every sound he heard made him jump. Every time he jumped he hit his head on the post above him and pretty soon a good sized lump appeared.
“strung”. how should i use this word. how am i supposed to write about an adjective. it is an adjective right? goes i hate writing. surprisingly time is going quite quickly. … yeah.
I was high strung. Why wouldn’t I be? One puff on the kon-jo and I was flying. It was my first time, it shoulda been my last time. But Id become high-strung because I wouldnt be able to get enough. Isn’t that irony? My greatest love stemmed from my deepest fear… Or is it the other way around?
I strung the string through the hook, making sure everythinhg was sacure and tight. then, hart pounding, i watched the girl, Emiline, jump off the bridge, and watched her bounce back up right before hitting the bottom.
“OHMYGOSH GUYS THAT WAS WAAAAY COOL!!!” she exclaimed to her friends. “Thanks sooo much Annabell!” she said to me.
one time i was struging and thenjds kdckdshfksdfvjdglkfdjglkdjfglkdjglkdjgdlfkgjdflkjgdflgkjdfghniuhgnjktplayhubcfjgvfdjhgnofjdfgjfdgljdflgjdflgjdflgjldkgjdflgkjghjfjkgdkjghdfkgjhdkjghfgkhdfjghdhgdgkh5ui586u45tjgfvnjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuukkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkklllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
so many lines in my hands
so many needle points and holes
invaded, penetrated by currents that hold me to something else
I am strung up by too many rules
when it came in the mail, i realized that it was not ready to play. it had been so long since i had to do it, but i couldnt wait for a friend to help me. my ukulele had to be strung that very moment. my fingers needed it. (true story =] )
making jokes at oneself
I remember listening to a college radio show not too long ago and the DJ played a song by Strung Out. I couldn’t remember the name of the song, or how it went but it was really good. I can hum part of it but that rarely helps. I hope to hear that song again some day.
she strung it out as long as she could avoiding the real issue. would she really have to face it head on? she would.
Any yet again i see this word. what it means to be strung? Strung out, strung up? I guess I choose to be strung together. With others, with myself.
One by one, she strung pearls. They were beautiful, lustrous and smooth, and they fell gracefully over her hand as she played with the strand. They were not the perfect white pearls, or even perfect spheres, but freshwater nuggets in varying shades of pink and peach.
I constantly allow myself to be strung along.
I won’t cut ties because I’m afraid of what I’ll lose once the security is gone.
Strung-out. Strung up man dangling, Southern trees bear strange fruit. I’m staggering, stumbling, cracked out.
All strung out. He was trashed. Such an easy target. Should I? I mean, when one cannot defend themselves, it’s considered almost sissy to bring such an end down on someone in such a state. Eh, to hell with it.
Minutes later, I lowered the rock to his forehead.
Strung up so high i can barely see, the world below me suspended in the earth, and space. …strung like a star in the sky i watch.
The Christmas cards were strung across the banister for months. It was July and still the Christmas cards were there. If I leave them up long enough, they’ll become decorations next Christmas.
I’m so strung out, I’m on my knees. Im crying here and begging you please, to save me from this hell, but you fell… just like me.
“In from the out!” This was his life advice and excuse for all wicked acts he would perform on his unknowing victims. He got it from how his father taught him to tie the rope around his cousin’s throat.
strung out from the drugs last night and wound tight from the pain in my head. i tell myself never again, but thats a lie, cuz i’d rather be strung out than strung along.
Im so strung out i dont know where to go, I have no place to hide and no one to know. I leave home at night, hoping no one will see me and one day ill try to escape here and be free
I am not a really high strung person. Not that I have the clearest idea what that means. But I’d like to think I’m not. Firefly.
I get strung. It definitely reminds me of that song were girls have big butts and then the guy gets strung.
But it also reminds me of drug abuse and how people are stung out on drugs.
The violins four strings vibrated, singing its sweet music and sending it off spinning into the echoing performance hall.
strung out like a bee with a lack of flowers, thats how i felt. i mean sure there were flowers, maybe one or two, but not any substantial amount. how do expect one to survive like this. really, people these days.
heroin takes its toll but nothing drains the body like falling in love again and again and again, stringing you along, taking you into the sky and slamming you into the rocks of Andromeda and her beast. nothing can save you from it, it comes out of nowhere, kicks you in the face, says “you’re mine, bitch” and there you go, you’re in love once again, and you know life will become a living, breathing, cold hell. It’s over. your life as you know it is over and you will never for an instant look back and regret it, you will insist you would never change it for anything in the world, and there you go along, falling and falling and falling only to find out you are on the same string as before.
I can remember a time when I wasn’t always so worried, so ashamed, so guiltful, and so strung out. Senses and words fail, only the time can tell.
strung. stuck in an element in which we can not pull ourselves out of. the part where we panic.
I place my heartstrings on a string and strum on that ill-fated guitar. it knows the tune, out of tune it may be, but it still is a tune. one that my soul knows well, the rhythm of the words that cry silently in the wind of my eternal desire, my destiny of strength.
the idea of beig strung up creeped under his skin faster than the snake the devil carries with him.
He was strung up at midday, and the noon sun cast an eerie shadow on the ground. Pinned to his shirt, there stood his crime, so all in the land would know what he had done, and what the price for betrayal of the crown would be.
Oh, I’ve definitely seen this word before on here. The problem is that it was pretty recent, so I actually remember what I wrote. It was about some woman, being strung up because of a stressful life. I even remember using the phrase “frayed nerves” in it. A lack of variety in these words definitely stifles my creativity.
i strung my guitar. not necessarily well, but i strung it,.I then played. for days. it was fun.
I’m being strung along – I just know it. He’s too perfect, too open-the-door, pull-out-your-chair polite. He can’t be real. Can he?
Strung on a string for the girl with the voice. Strung along being dragged on the ground, bumped and bruised without a care in the world
First repeat I’ve gotten. I still think of you while I’m writing, because I wrote about you the first time I got this word. You’re usually in the back of my mind when I write, now. It colors my work differently, and when I want to write something else, something more original, it still in some small way relates to you. Whether it’s a characters mannerisms, or something more concrete, like having a musical profession. I can’t escape it, and it’s rather annoying sometimes how my brain just won’t frigging let go of you. But I don’t want to forget you. I’m not sure I ever will.
I hurt to much to really tell the doctor. I mean, I’m 20 for god’s sake, a shot shouldn’t be this bad but I still want that ice cream afterward.
One word is simply a topic that can bring to mind many subjects and ideas. Without thinking about it this is what is brought to my attention.
Strung. Ein strenger Strung strunkte mitten im Feld herum. Er stand da, ganz streng blickte er auf all die kleinen Gänseblümchen und Radieschen, Vogelmiere, Unkräutlein und er sagte: der einzige richtige Strung hier bin ich.
Another celebration beckons, no snow this year, just the dull grey of a miserable december, however, the warmth is in everyones window, colourful decorations strung like pheasants at the butcher.
He was highly strung sitting there in the corner. Every sound he heard made him jump. Every time he jumped he hit his head on the post above him and pretty soon a good sized lump appeared.
“strung”. how should i use this word. how am i supposed to write about an adjective. it is an adjective right? goes i hate writing. surprisingly time is going quite quickly. … yeah.