broken down worn out and simply diabled sense of corruption. in one moment you can be silver and the next, atmospheric emotional environments can ravage your metallic shine, and make you old. everyone can be silver again.
when i think of tarnished, i think something metal. but then i start to think more in depth. tarnished. ruined. completely. a family’s reputation tarnished. a day tarnished because the first date went awful.
The last few humans crowded together comfortably around their space craft, they look up and the old tarnished sun, as a last goodbye. taking off, they go into the unknown, with hope
Tarnished. I am always needing to tarnish myself from existence because of how difficult Me, myself and I are to deal with sometimes,I simply cannot live with myself cause I really am multiple people at once. I am multiple layers of different person, simply put, I consist of many people, many things, many emotions, many thoughts, many actions, and I’m not even getting to the core of it all.
Well considering I don’t know what this word means, it’s a tad bit hard to write about it. Tarnished… hmm. Well it sounds like… not good. Is it good? Or not? I don’t know what to say, give me another, easier word. This isn’t fair. I don’t like this.
Grandma held the tarnished silver teapot, mesmerized, as memories of the past 60 years flashed in front of her eyes. Here was her husband when they were newlyweds, there at little Jeanine’s baptism…
At first, I thought that it said “tarnished head”, and that gave way to thoughts of rusty nails and run down, dried blood red shacks in the middle of a Conyer’s childhood.
There may or may not have a bun a hunched over, ragged looking man standing inside of that barn, but in my memory, and within the reflection of my mind’s eye, he stood there, looking at me as I looked at him.
You wanna know what I think of when I see “tarnished”?
Really? Well, first I thought of Nathaniel, but that’s a fuck all,
because I always think of him first, and wonder how does this word
of the day relate to the way we’re falling apart. And then I
thought of silver, and so I wrote one about silver, but I don’t
think an old woman crying over an unpolishable silver spoon really
means anything. So it’s back to relationships again. And how much
mine has deteroriated, because right now, I’m still waiting for
something to go right. And it’s beyond midnight, now, and I’m still
waiting for a flight that was supposed to come back with my soul,
at six pm this evening; I guess I’m waiting to be whole again,
after months of being broken. Facny that.
There’s a memory I’ve been holding, of this old silver spoon, and the old silver maid who would swoon over it. And I’ve been holding onto this memory, because I can’t get it out of my head how she used to cry over it, like she wished she were dead. And I can’t keep thinking – wondering, really – if the reason she cried so was for her sanity. You see, this spoon, was tarnished and encrusted, with dirt and some mites, and horribly dusted. I think this old spoon could have used some un-rusted, but it was this old maid’s fate to be weeping, for nothing she did could un-crust it.
I think of silver…the silver on my old crown. The thought of a life once whole, tarnished by existance. That’s all tarnishing is: the rld wearing you down and making you sy existing. In reality, it’s the same object, just looks different. Like people, sometimes it takes lasting damage, sometimes it can be cleaned off & it’ll all be back to the way it was.
He sat alone in a dusty room, full of old wonders from his late gandfather’s years past. He ran his hand over the old, dusty and tarnished table, and wondered just what things and events this humble table had been a part of.
I’ve written about this word before. It’s nothing new, really. Everything in life is tarnished from the day it comes into existence. Nothing is pure. Nothing is right. Nothing on earth can save you… but Someone in heaven can.
Does he see me? Does he even take notice that I’m alive, breathing the same air as him? Every single day, I pass by him. And he passes me by. He doesn’t even look in my direction. I tuck my dry hands into my pocket and slip into the bathroom. Somehow, the dirty mirror doesn’t reflect the me I think he sees. Either that or the mirror only lies. I took out a black, permanent marker and wrote on the mirror. In big, bold letters, I wrote, “It’s nothing but a lie.” And on the next mirror, I wrote, “Everyone lies. Always.” I put the mirror back into my pocket, and my hand too. I walked back outside and passed him by. Just like every other day. And when I bumped into his shoulder, I think he finally saw me. But he didn’t matter to me anymore. Because I was a new person. A new person that all of those lies made me out to be.
the vase was quite tarnished for it had stayed in the same place for seventy years now. it’s been in the house ever since my grandmother was a little girl. my great grandmother never moved it and since my granny inherited the house, she hasn’t either. i suppose it’s a tradition or they’re just lazy.
the tarnished furniture sat in the dilapidated living room of the fallen mansion at the end of town. it was sad really. It used to be so beautiful so many years ago. before the town became a ghost town. Not the cool kind of ghost town you see in westerns. but a creepy Poe kind of ghost town.
Its gone forever to be lost in the world of the past. I’ve tarnished whatever chance I had of making things right. Now, all I do is hope that she’ll forgive me for what I’ve done, but I know this will haunt her for years to come.
Tarnished. That’s a fun word. So, what exactly does it mean? I’m thinking damaged, messed up, ruined? Can’t be sure but it’s a start. Like a beautiful painting with an ugly brown streak across it. Well, that would be depressing.
Old and worn, tired, unable to focus. One has lost the original glow of youth in exchange for the tragedies of old age. We have all been lost and forgotten by those who abandoned us, but have now been reclaimed by new eyes. Ones that see us for what we have been and still can be.
…as if nothing in this world wasn’t made to be tarnished. The rust on the linoleum was scraping at the bottom of my feet and all I was wishing was for the bath tub to be fixed. Darn. Maybe you could help? Asking him was better than sitting under the kitchen sink and fishing for the hot water line.
I sat at the little table on my porch, rocking back and forth in my chair and polishing the ancient pennies with a dirty rag and some vinegar. Neighbors, passersby, children — they all wandered past. But I was engrossed in the coins, their once brilliant sheen, tarnished by time and restored again with a few rubs from my cloth.
They tarnished my livelihood. They tarnished my life. But they have not tarnished me. I have survived the fire, refusing to feel the flames. I have believed that such were one and the same, but perseverance holds a different definition.
I was tarnished by the stench of their behaviour. The actions have a definite odour which had entered by body. How will I rid myself of this offensive smell.
Tarnished- the forks I have to shine every Christmas, regardless of whether or not anyone cares or even looks at what they’re eating their pie with. I’ve never understood it.
Edna sat down to polish the tarnished silver of her souvenir spoon collection. She enjoyed doing this on Tuesday afternoons after the junk mail came. It gave her something to put under the spoons and the letters from charitable organizations made her feel special. When the doorbell rang, she hurriedly scooped the spoons into her handbag, picked up her cane and hobbled quickly to the bunker under her basement. Those spoon thieves wouldn’t have their way this time.
when was in fifth grade my friend haley and i polished her mothers tarnished silver vases. she thought it was fun, i thought it smelled really bad and wondered if i’d pass out. i was and still am really weird like that.
Most of the silver her mother left her was tarnished. She could spend a lifetime polishing it and why bother? No one would eat with the forks or stir with the tea spoons and spread butter with the knives. It was senseless and so she sat down with a cloth and began a lifelong journey ,weeping and wondering as she took each piece in her hand.
I am tarnished. I was new. Clean, pure even when we first met. But you poisoned me. You rubbed me raw and then let me rust. You didn’t even stop to think about what you were doing, just as long as it felt good to YOU. You never thought about what I needed, or wanted. That is why I’m trying to clean myself up now.
Tarnished. Torn. Forlorn. The end of life, and yet, the holder of so many stories. To be tarnished is not broken or unloved, simply filled with a life no one yet has stumbled upon to remember.
like my image, my innocence, forever blemished
whatever can be done
when all is tarnished? forever lost,
were i but a blank page, i would perhaps remain
unblemished
bright red and bloodied
rose white, snow red
forever vestal
The tarnished handle glowed ominously in the darkness. She was unsure how long she had been staring at the monstrous teatray, but she knew that something impossible was to come of it. This was the end of life as she knew it. This was the wind, that swept the leaves accross the ground, this was the end and the beginning. She grasped the handle and was off.
He rubbed at the tarnished edge of it, a slight frown marring his face. She had this tucked away all along? Why this? He ran his thumb along the inscription. It didn’t make any sense. Not that he couldn’t read the inscription…but what was she doing with it?
I know my heart is tarnished, it’s battered and missing parts but it still beats. I promise it’s still capable of love. Please don’t tear it apart again.
broken down worn out and simply diabled sense of corruption. in one moment you can be silver and the next, atmospheric emotional environments can ravage your metallic shine, and make you old. everyone can be silver again.
when i think of tarnished, i think something metal. but then i start to think more in depth. tarnished. ruined. completely. a family’s reputation tarnished. a day tarnished because the first date went awful.
The last few humans crowded together comfortably around their space craft, they look up and the old tarnished sun, as a last goodbye. taking off, they go into the unknown, with hope
Tarnished. I am always needing to tarnish myself from existence because of how difficult Me, myself and I are to deal with sometimes,I simply cannot live with myself cause I really am multiple people at once. I am multiple layers of different person, simply put, I consist of many people, many things, many emotions, many thoughts, many actions, and I’m not even getting to the core of it all.
Well considering I don’t know what this word means, it’s a tad bit hard to write about it. Tarnished… hmm. Well it sounds like… not good. Is it good? Or not? I don’t know what to say, give me another, easier word. This isn’t fair. I don’t like this.
Sheared and destroyed, mangled beyond repair
One word such meaning, so harsh yet so fair.
Destruction and withered dreams,
Torn apart at the seams.
Grandma held the tarnished silver teapot, mesmerized, as memories of the past 60 years flashed in front of her eyes. Here was her husband when they were newlyweds, there at little Jeanine’s baptism…
Relationships tarnished, friends torn apart. Lovers who lost their love. Depression, fatigue, sadness. White streaked with black, dirt and grime
At first, I thought that it said “tarnished head”, and that gave way to thoughts of rusty nails and run down, dried blood red shacks in the middle of a Conyer’s childhood.
There may or may not have a bun a hunched over, ragged looking man standing inside of that barn, but in my memory, and within the reflection of my mind’s eye, he stood there, looking at me as I looked at him.
You wanna know what I think of when I see “tarnished”?
Really? Well, first I thought of Nathaniel, but that’s a fuck all,
because I always think of him first, and wonder how does this word
of the day relate to the way we’re falling apart. And then I
thought of silver, and so I wrote one about silver, but I don’t
think an old woman crying over an unpolishable silver spoon really
means anything. So it’s back to relationships again. And how much
mine has deteroriated, because right now, I’m still waiting for
something to go right. And it’s beyond midnight, now, and I’m still
waiting for a flight that was supposed to come back with my soul,
at six pm this evening; I guess I’m waiting to be whole again,
after months of being broken. Facny that.
There’s a memory I’ve been holding, of this old silver spoon, and the old silver maid who would swoon over it. And I’ve been holding onto this memory, because I can’t get it out of my head how she used to cry over it, like she wished she were dead. And I can’t keep thinking – wondering, really – if the reason she cried so was for her sanity. You see, this spoon, was tarnished and encrusted, with dirt and some mites, and horribly dusted. I think this old spoon could have used some un-rusted, but it was this old maid’s fate to be weeping, for nothing she did could un-crust it.
I think of silver…the silver on my old crown. The thought of a life once whole, tarnished by existance. That’s all tarnishing is: the rld wearing you down and making you sy existing. In reality, it’s the same object, just looks different. Like people, sometimes it takes lasting damage, sometimes it can be cleaned off & it’ll all be back to the way it was.
He sat alone in a dusty room, full of old wonders from his late gandfather’s years past. He ran his hand over the old, dusty and tarnished table, and wondered just what things and events this humble table had been a part of.
I’ve written about this word before. It’s nothing new, really. Everything in life is tarnished from the day it comes into existence. Nothing is pure. Nothing is right. Nothing on earth can save you… but Someone in heaven can.
Does he see me? Does he even take notice that I’m alive, breathing the same air as him? Every single day, I pass by him. And he passes me by. He doesn’t even look in my direction. I tuck my dry hands into my pocket and slip into the bathroom. Somehow, the dirty mirror doesn’t reflect the me I think he sees. Either that or the mirror only lies. I took out a black, permanent marker and wrote on the mirror. In big, bold letters, I wrote, “It’s nothing but a lie.” And on the next mirror, I wrote, “Everyone lies. Always.” I put the mirror back into my pocket, and my hand too. I walked back outside and passed him by. Just like every other day. And when I bumped into his shoulder, I think he finally saw me. But he didn’t matter to me anymore. Because I was a new person. A new person that all of those lies made me out to be.
tarnished
varnished
licked into shape
the vase was quite tarnished for it had stayed in the same place for seventy years now. it’s been in the house ever since my grandmother was a little girl. my great grandmother never moved it and since my granny inherited the house, she hasn’t either. i suppose it’s a tradition or they’re just lazy.
I am tarnished by the darkest and deadliest lies that any human or devil conjure.
the tarnished furniture sat in the dilapidated living room of the fallen mansion at the end of town. it was sad really. It used to be so beautiful so many years ago. before the town became a ghost town. Not the cool kind of ghost town you see in westerns. but a creepy Poe kind of ghost town.
I think of tarnished in terms of a tainted person, or maybe a heart, but but whose light still mostly shines through.
This is a tough one.
Its gone forever to be lost in the world of the past. I’ve tarnished whatever chance I had of making things right. Now, all I do is hope that she’ll forgive me for what I’ve done, but I know this will haunt her for years to come.
ha! like an old rusty sleeve,
or a heart sailing on the big,
blue, wide-open seas.
Tarnished. That’s a fun word. So, what exactly does it mean? I’m thinking damaged, messed up, ruined? Can’t be sure but it’s a start. Like a beautiful painting with an ugly brown streak across it. Well, that would be depressing.
Old and worn, tired, unable to focus. One has lost the original glow of youth in exchange for the tragedies of old age. We have all been lost and forgotten by those who abandoned us, but have now been reclaimed by new eyes. Ones that see us for what we have been and still can be.
…as if nothing in this world wasn’t made to be tarnished. The rust on the linoleum was scraping at the bottom of my feet and all I was wishing was for the bath tub to be fixed. Darn. Maybe you could help? Asking him was better than sitting under the kitchen sink and fishing for the hot water line.
I sat at the little table on my porch, rocking back and forth in my chair and polishing the ancient pennies with a dirty rag and some vinegar. Neighbors, passersby, children — they all wandered past. But I was engrossed in the coins, their once brilliant sheen, tarnished by time and restored again with a few rubs from my cloth.
They tarnished my livelihood. They tarnished my life. But they have not tarnished me. I have survived the fire, refusing to feel the flames. I have believed that such were one and the same, but perseverance holds a different definition.
I was tarnished by the stench of their behaviour. The actions have a definite odour which had entered by body. How will I rid myself of this offensive smell.
Tarnished- the forks I have to shine every Christmas, regardless of whether or not anyone cares or even looks at what they’re eating their pie with. I’ve never understood it.
Edna sat down to polish the tarnished silver of her souvenir spoon collection. She enjoyed doing this on Tuesday afternoons after the junk mail came. It gave her something to put under the spoons and the letters from charitable organizations made her feel special. When the doorbell rang, she hurriedly scooped the spoons into her handbag, picked up her cane and hobbled quickly to the bunker under her basement. Those spoon thieves wouldn’t have their way this time.
when was in fifth grade my friend haley and i polished her mothers tarnished silver vases. she thought it was fun, i thought it smelled really bad and wondered if i’d pass out. i was and still am really weird like that.
Most of the silver her mother left her was tarnished. She could spend a lifetime polishing it and why bother? No one would eat with the forks or stir with the tea spoons and spread butter with the knives. It was senseless and so she sat down with a cloth and began a lifelong journey ,weeping and wondering as she took each piece in her hand.
I am tarnished. I was new. Clean, pure even when we first met. But you poisoned me. You rubbed me raw and then let me rust. You didn’t even stop to think about what you were doing, just as long as it felt good to YOU. You never thought about what I needed, or wanted. That is why I’m trying to clean myself up now.
Tarnished. Torn. Forlorn. The end of life, and yet, the holder of so many stories. To be tarnished is not broken or unloved, simply filled with a life no one yet has stumbled upon to remember.
a tarnished black cat reading deep proust like wednesday adams in a dark bat infested country castle
Tarnished is a statue. Once beautiful. Still beautiful. Not quite what it used to be. Dissolved over time. Left alone to be destroyed by nature
like my image, my innocence, forever blemished
whatever can be done
when all is tarnished? forever lost,
were i but a blank page, i would perhaps remain
unblemished
bright red and bloodied
rose white, snow red
forever vestal
The tarnished handle glowed ominously in the darkness. She was unsure how long she had been staring at the monstrous teatray, but she knew that something impossible was to come of it. This was the end of life as she knew it. This was the wind, that swept the leaves accross the ground, this was the end and the beginning. She grasped the handle and was off.
He rubbed at the tarnished edge of it, a slight frown marring his face. She had this tucked away all along? Why this? He ran his thumb along the inscription. It didn’t make any sense. Not that he couldn’t read the inscription…but what was she doing with it?
I know my heart is tarnished, it’s battered and missing parts but it still beats. I promise it’s still capable of love. Please don’t tear it apart again.