The tires seemed to be deflated as he drove along the hottest asphalt on record, he was afraid they would melt, but kept going any way. How could he not, if he didn’t make it what then?
Tiras de carne colgaban, atadas armónicamente sobre el fierro de frío metal. Levanté la mano y las suaves gotas de lluvia cayeron sobre mi rostro. Olía a rosas y sabía a hiel, cerré los ojos y saqué los recuerdos de mi mente. Ya no más.
He’d been waiting for at least a good twenty minutes when they showed up; three of them in a tight formation, engines screeching and the smell of new metal about them. They awaited his orders.
in the grooves of his tires
there is mud and
there is grime but
it can be cleaned but
what it hides is a
tiny shard of glass that will eventually
break the surface and when it
does the whole thing will
be incapitated it
will affect everything with just
one tiny thing
that seems so incosequestial.
and my heart is the same.
there are emotions and confusions but
the may be able to fade
but they hide something it is
pain.
and you are the shard of glass wedged
there in my very heart and
you will break my heart i know
it is true and when the
heart is broken the rest of me
will not be able to go on.
It’s only been four weeks, and yet she tires of such feelings of inadequacy and failure. How was it others made married life seem so easy? Maybe it was that her husband looked at her as a mistake. Or, maybe he wished she was her—his ex-wife, that was. Why was it they seemed to have no sex life? Young and newlywed, she imagined a life of glamorous and exotic intimacy; yet, it seemed he couldn’t get it up, or keep it up. Was it her? Was she the problem? Was she not pretty enough? Not sexy enough? Yes, that must be it. She sat on the couch that night, crying, wondering where she failed and why she wasn’t good enough anymore. Drawing the razor across her arms, she released a hint of the inner pain, proving she was as weak as ever, and, maybe, it was her weakness that he despised so much.
I tire of tire marks on my lawn. It ruins the flowers, and it destroys my peace of mind. How do I know that the next car won’t hit me? Not very many people can see me, it would seem. and even fewer take note of my house. How terrible. Just another face on the news, it would seem. Just another hit and run where nobody knows my name.
Roughly scraping over fresh gravel the car approaches. The tires squeal, even at the slow pace they’re moving. Ridges, and grooves. They’re like fingerprints. Fingerprints as distinct as your own, and they’re coming my way. Coming to me. They stop, halting mere inches away. A man steps out of the car, reaching for me. So I get in. I don’t know why, but I get in. Here we go, I suppose.
I tire every single day. You know what tires? Everything. Even looking at the sun. Looking at beautiful things. Good things can tire as well as the bad. It’s a fact of life and always will be. There will always be tiring and there will always be resting.
are round. black and they roll and roll until someone stop them or they just stop all for themself. I thought of tired, maybe because i am tired, or sometimes become tired of seeing all these words on this mac screen night after night and day after day!
It was the tires, they said. The tires hadn’t been replaced in over a year — the tread had worn down and they were so bare they wouldn’t keep traction on a gravel road. That’s how he’d spun out.
immediately, i’m ten years old again. we’re young again. we scream and run and jump and love without a care. without fear. without worry. without boundaries. the sky is ours for the taking. yet, it’s getting harder and harder to recall what it was like to be a “me” that i was proud of. that didn’t always hide.
let this be a promise that you keep. take me far away. make me remember.
She tires of the same routines, yet she smiles through each passing day until maybe someday somehow something extraordinary comes her way. In the mean while…
There were skid marks in the middle of the street- it was apparent the break in had occurred not too long before. They kicked in the door and replaced it with a tent, but how’d they get away without their tires?
Sometimes, studying for an exam feels like pushing a car with four flat tires though a swamp. It’s difficult, it’s tiring, and progress is really slow.
i’m going to take one more deep breath, and if you’re not gone by the time i open my eyes, I’ll be the one to leave. I’m not afraid to jump in my car and spin these tires out of town. everyone told me your stories were just lies to get me in your arms faster, and everyone was right.
I was tired of it all. The lies, the long silences, the regret. I pushed it all away, and I forgot. I went on, holding no grudges. I let our friendship hang onto a steady course. I knew nothing would happen, and for once, I was okay with that. I tolerated him in order to jump another hurdle, and he just became another routine in my life.
Unlike the European spelling ‘tyres’, the American spelling suggests a tribe of people who never get enough sleep – ‘The Tires’ – who, in a collective act of cultural insanity, celebrate their continuing insomnia through the medium of heavy metal music, chainsaw juggling and over-enthusiastic headbanging. To fireworks.
Here, there’s no such thing as chastity, or values
Or manners and morality
In a run down heaven like Harlem.
Here, tires squeal hard and fast as they skid to a stop
In front of crooked-winged angels in
Small skirts and a veil of smoke
In this run down heaven called Harlem.
It’s a good night to be out there soakin’ up the moonlight. Stake out a little piece of shorline. I’ve got the perfect place in mind, it’s in the middle of nowhere, there’s only one way to get there…you gotta get a little mud on the tires.
man i’m not sure what’s more worn
my tires, my soles or my soul
but buddy something about this stretch
of road, curling into the horizon so
far i can’t see the end–
something about that makes me weary
something about that eats at my drive
(and i ain’t talkin’ about my car)
tires get us places. sure the engine, steering wheel, the metal frame and all those other things help. but the tires are the building blocks. yay tires =]
The tires squealed on the wet pavement as the thieves drove off. They thought they had pulled the perfect crime – one that couldn’t be traced to them. What they didn’t realize is that one of them had dropped something. Something that would bring the FBI right to their doorsteps.
The tires squeaked on the pavement. “oh god,” I thought to myself, “They’re here to take me away!” I run into my closet and hold the door shut, hand remaining on the door knob. I waited in absolute silence, holding my breath, heart pounding louder than drums. It felt like hours, it felt like years. Then my bedroom door is busted down, a pool of men swarm into my room, guns in hand. I start biting my lip, “please don’t notice me,” Then a man points a gun to my hiding spot “Come out! We know you’re in there!” I sigh in defeat. As soon as I open the door I feel a million hands grab me and push me out of my room. My hands become chained and I can’t move. Correction, I don’t dare to move, not with a cold, metal monster pressed against my left temple. One pull on the trigger, and boom. Game over.
My tires just keep spinning. No stopping now. Halfway to Texas. Gotta get there. Gotta see you. No stopping now. Drive. Drive. Drive. No stopping now. Don’t fail me now, car, don’t fail me now.
Most little girls loved their dolls, their pretty dresses, and their shiny rings. Maryanne loved her tire swing. Her father brought it home when she was only 8 years old. An old balding tire from the third row of his giant 18-wheeler. He strung it up on the old oak tree outside the house, telling her that “now even when daddies gone on a long haul you can still play with him.”
tires are yummy. i eat them everyday for lunch along with pepperjack cheese and my pet iguanas that are from Guatemala. the tires on my car are very shiny because i just got a carwash today and they shined them for free it was cool. they are also black, just like my…
The tires only cost $100. It seemed like a great deal at the time. I paid the money and hit the highway. I was as happy as a clam. that is until the rain started. As the drops got larger and larger, my vehicle started to slide more and more. I hated those tires as I slid to a stop kissing the vehicle in front of me, abruptly from behind.
Tires go on cars. They can literally be all different colors, sizes, and have different patters. We use them everyday, also! On cars, buses, even steering wheels.
it’s on cars. but i first read “tired”, ’cause i’m tired of everything. i don’t really have much to write. but i’m tired of wishing that the people i care about would care about me, and iæm tired of wishing that i will stop being sad.
I tossed the heavy garbage bag into the water. It bobbed a bit before it sank. Danny stood there with her arms folded, her lips pursed and her brow creased like she was in deep thought.
The tire treads in the mud are deep — so deep tat it’s a surprise that the truck that left them isn’t still stuck in the mud. But it had a powerful engine and had ripped through the field easily, mud flying, windshield wipers going.
“He tires too easily. There’s no way he would make it. We have to stay here and fight it out.”
“We can’t stay here! The Walkers are coming this way! Have you net seen them?”
“Then what do you propose we do?”
“We leave him.”
They spin round and round until their grips are balding and smooth with wear. Then they’re discarded like so much trash — their years of use forgotten.
when you left me,
my lungs collapsed,
my heart broke,
my soul was crushed,
and i deflated like a flat tire,
left to wither away in a patch of mud on the side of your highway,
knowing that you would soon replace me and drive on
to better days…
while i stayed,
broken,
useless,
waiting for you to return,
and knowing that you never would.
I’m pretty sure future me tires of being constantly manipulated in order to fit in. It’s rubbish, really. To change one’s self just to talk to a group of people higher on the popular scale than yourself. But really, if someone is desperate for friends, they’d do anything to make some.
The tires seemed to be deflated as he drove along the hottest asphalt on record, he was afraid they would melt, but kept going any way. How could he not, if he didn’t make it what then?
Tiras de carne colgaban, atadas armónicamente sobre el fierro de frío metal. Levanté la mano y las suaves gotas de lluvia cayeron sobre mi rostro. Olía a rosas y sabía a hiel, cerré los ojos y saqué los recuerdos de mi mente. Ya no más.
Black and heavy. Just like my brain right now.
He’d been waiting for at least a good twenty minutes when they showed up; three of them in a tight formation, engines screeching and the smell of new metal about them. They awaited his orders.
in the grooves of his tires
there is mud and
there is grime but
it can be cleaned but
what it hides is a
tiny shard of glass that will eventually
break the surface and when it
does the whole thing will
be incapitated it
will affect everything with just
one tiny thing
that seems so incosequestial.
and my heart is the same.
there are emotions and confusions but
the may be able to fade
but they hide something it is
pain.
and you are the shard of glass wedged
there in my very heart and
you will break my heart i know
it is true and when the
heart is broken the rest of me
will not be able to go on.
It’s only been four weeks, and yet she tires of such feelings of inadequacy and failure. How was it others made married life seem so easy? Maybe it was that her husband looked at her as a mistake. Or, maybe he wished she was her—his ex-wife, that was. Why was it they seemed to have no sex life? Young and newlywed, she imagined a life of glamorous and exotic intimacy; yet, it seemed he couldn’t get it up, or keep it up. Was it her? Was she the problem? Was she not pretty enough? Not sexy enough? Yes, that must be it. She sat on the couch that night, crying, wondering where she failed and why she wasn’t good enough anymore. Drawing the razor across her arms, she released a hint of the inner pain, proving she was as weak as ever, and, maybe, it was her weakness that he despised so much.
I tire of tire marks on my lawn. It ruins the flowers, and it destroys my peace of mind. How do I know that the next car won’t hit me? Not very many people can see me, it would seem. and even fewer take note of my house. How terrible. Just another face on the news, it would seem. Just another hit and run where nobody knows my name.
Roughly scraping over fresh gravel the car approaches. The tires squeal, even at the slow pace they’re moving. Ridges, and grooves. They’re like fingerprints. Fingerprints as distinct as your own, and they’re coming my way. Coming to me. They stop, halting mere inches away. A man steps out of the car, reaching for me. So I get in. I don’t know why, but I get in. Here we go, I suppose.
I tire every single day. You know what tires? Everything. Even looking at the sun. Looking at beautiful things. Good things can tire as well as the bad. It’s a fact of life and always will be. There will always be tiring and there will always be resting.
are round. black and they roll and roll until someone stop them or they just stop all for themself. I thought of tired, maybe because i am tired, or sometimes become tired of seeing all these words on this mac screen night after night and day after day!
It was the tires, they said. The tires hadn’t been replaced in over a year — the tread had worn down and they were so bare they wouldn’t keep traction on a gravel road. That’s how he’d spun out.
“pack your bags. we’re going on our roadtrip.”
immediately, i’m ten years old again. we’re young again. we scream and run and jump and love without a care. without fear. without worry. without boundaries. the sky is ours for the taking. yet, it’s getting harder and harder to recall what it was like to be a “me” that i was proud of. that didn’t always hide.
let this be a promise that you keep. take me far away. make me remember.
She tires of the same routines, yet she smiles through each passing day until maybe someday somehow something extraordinary comes her way. In the mean while…
Carry me away.
Let us escape this madness
Or we’ll go mad, too.
(haiku)
There were skid marks in the middle of the street- it was apparent the break in had occurred not too long before. They kicked in the door and replaced it with a tent, but how’d they get away without their tires?
Sometimes, studying for an exam feels like pushing a car with four flat tires though a swamp. It’s difficult, it’s tiring, and progress is really slow.
Sometimes it’s great! But, this time: Flat tires.
Round round round.
Getting no where fast.
Keep spinning no time to last.
Out of here out of the past.
i’m going to take one more deep breath, and if you’re not gone by the time i open my eyes, I’ll be the one to leave. I’m not afraid to jump in my car and spin these tires out of town. everyone told me your stories were just lies to get me in your arms faster, and everyone was right.
I was tired of it all. The lies, the long silences, the regret. I pushed it all away, and I forgot. I went on, holding no grudges. I let our friendship hang onto a steady course. I knew nothing would happen, and for once, I was okay with that. I tolerated him in order to jump another hurdle, and he just became another routine in my life.
Unlike the European spelling ‘tyres’, the American spelling suggests a tribe of people who never get enough sleep – ‘The Tires’ – who, in a collective act of cultural insanity, celebrate their continuing insomnia through the medium of heavy metal music, chainsaw juggling and over-enthusiastic headbanging. To fireworks.
Here, there’s no such thing as chastity, or values
Or manners and morality
In a run down heaven like Harlem.
Here, tires squeal hard and fast as they skid to a stop
In front of crooked-winged angels in
Small skirts and a veil of smoke
In this run down heaven called Harlem.
It’s a good night to be out there soakin’ up the moonlight. Stake out a little piece of shorline. I’ve got the perfect place in mind, it’s in the middle of nowhere, there’s only one way to get there…you gotta get a little mud on the tires.
man i’m not sure what’s more worn
my tires, my soles or my soul
but buddy something about this stretch
of road, curling into the horizon so
far i can’t see the end–
something about that makes me weary
something about that eats at my drive
(and i ain’t talkin’ about my car)
tires get us places. sure the engine, steering wheel, the metal frame and all those other things help. but the tires are the building blocks. yay tires =]
The tires squealed on the wet pavement as the thieves drove off. They thought they had pulled the perfect crime – one that couldn’t be traced to them. What they didn’t realize is that one of them had dropped something. Something that would bring the FBI right to their doorsteps.
Black, round means of transportation. I need new ones, due to the old ones being threadbare and life threatening
The tires squeaked on the pavement. “oh god,” I thought to myself, “They’re here to take me away!” I run into my closet and hold the door shut, hand remaining on the door knob. I waited in absolute silence, holding my breath, heart pounding louder than drums. It felt like hours, it felt like years. Then my bedroom door is busted down, a pool of men swarm into my room, guns in hand. I start biting my lip, “please don’t notice me,” Then a man points a gun to my hiding spot “Come out! We know you’re in there!” I sigh in defeat. As soon as I open the door I feel a million hands grab me and push me out of my room. My hands become chained and I can’t move. Correction, I don’t dare to move, not with a cold, metal monster pressed against my left temple. One pull on the trigger, and boom. Game over.
My tires just keep spinning. No stopping now. Halfway to Texas. Gotta get there. Gotta see you. No stopping now. Drive. Drive. Drive. No stopping now. Don’t fail me now, car, don’t fail me now.
Most little girls loved their dolls, their pretty dresses, and their shiny rings. Maryanne loved her tire swing. Her father brought it home when she was only 8 years old. An old balding tire from the third row of his giant 18-wheeler. He strung it up on the old oak tree outside the house, telling her that “now even when daddies gone on a long haul you can still play with him.”
tires are yummy. i eat them everyday for lunch along with pepperjack cheese and my pet iguanas that are from Guatemala. the tires on my car are very shiny because i just got a carwash today and they shined them for free it was cool. they are also black, just like my…
The tires only cost $100. It seemed like a great deal at the time. I paid the money and hit the highway. I was as happy as a clam. that is until the rain started. As the drops got larger and larger, my vehicle started to slide more and more. I hated those tires as I slid to a stop kissing the vehicle in front of me, abruptly from behind.
Tires go on cars. They can literally be all different colors, sizes, and have different patters. We use them everyday, also! On cars, buses, even steering wheels.
it’s on cars. but i first read “tired”, ’cause i’m tired of everything. i don’t really have much to write. but i’m tired of wishing that the people i care about would care about me, and iæm tired of wishing that i will stop being sad.
“Well, your tires certainly left a mark.”
“I know.”
I tossed the heavy garbage bag into the water. It bobbed a bit before it sank. Danny stood there with her arms folded, her lips pursed and her brow creased like she was in deep thought.
“You think they’ll notice you’ve taken off?”
“Maybe. I dunno. Not very many people notice me.”
I could still smell blood in my fingernails.
The tire treads in the mud are deep — so deep tat it’s a surprise that the truck that left them isn’t still stuck in the mud. But it had a powerful engine and had ripped through the field easily, mud flying, windshield wipers going.
Speed. Filth. Elation.
It’s enough.
“He tires too easily. There’s no way he would make it. We have to stay here and fight it out.”
“We can’t stay here! The Walkers are coming this way! Have you net seen them?”
“Then what do you propose we do?”
“We leave him.”
They spin round and round until their grips are balding and smooth with wear. Then they’re discarded like so much trash — their years of use forgotten.
when you left me,
my lungs collapsed,
my heart broke,
my soul was crushed,
and i deflated like a flat tire,
left to wither away in a patch of mud on the side of your highway,
knowing that you would soon replace me and drive on
to better days…
while i stayed,
broken,
useless,
waiting for you to return,
and knowing that you never would.
I’m pretty sure future me tires of being constantly manipulated in order to fit in. It’s rubbish, really. To change one’s self just to talk to a group of people higher on the popular scale than yourself. But really, if someone is desperate for friends, they’d do anything to make some.
tires of rubber.
tires of the same town.
tires tired of the same asphalt kissing the same ground.