Come to me in these ruins. Let me tendril up your spine, send you estactic pleasure that makes you shudder as we entwine. I know I need this just as much as you, can you feel me, feel me in these vines? All I want for now is to look into your eyes.
They wrapped around each other as they grew, spiraling around as they inched their way across the walls of the house. Crawling vines, broad leaves covering more and more wall space, to gather in more light, to grow even more. I loved it though, covering my walls in colorful, green beauty. What I couldn’t stand were the bugs.
The vines began to tighten around her throat, slowly, but she didn’t notice. She had long been dead, and no one cared enough to find her here. The search had stopped years ago. Her blind eyes stared and watched the seasons pass.
This reminds me of the Jonas Brothers album that released when I was in fifth grade called Lines Vines and Trying Times. I remember gram picked Nicole and I up from school and we rushed our way through Walmart to buy it. A very good album
It’s strange. You’d think that after all this time, that someone would have found this garden and tried to clean it up – tear down the wild green vines that hang from the pale stone walls that are cracking to bits. But no, it’s still a place of nature, unknown and undiscovered, and that’s what terrifies me the most.
My eyes were wandering around the humongous place when somewhere, they unintentionally stopped. As if my eyes were a leader and my body was a following army, my whole body froze as my eyes did. A lifeless swing seemed as if it’s delicate vine arms were about to fall out of the branch’s grip.
The vines crept slowly up the limestone exterior of the buildings, slowly, inexoriably, more and more every year. Dead and brown in the winter, slumbering, waiting for the sun-kissed warmth of spring to burst into life again, making the ivory towers green and shading the brilliant ideas withing.
The vines. That’s where we first met. I was on holiday with my parents, 9 years old, bustling through a patch of wild bushes, which in my mind were to be called ‘the vines’. As my parents practiced their high-school french with the neighbour, I spotted the neighbours grandson on his hands and knees.
They were the hours
When we existed in wandering vines
and our separate skins crawled against one another
and you weren’t holding me
and I wasn’t holding you
but still we were
holding
I feel as if I am made of trees
And when I am with you I am a forest
And I’m just so very grateful that I can see the stars in the night sky
Vines that snake all around the wooden stakes, vines with heavy, luscious grapes sprouting from it, centimeters apart, grapes that are round, purple and shiny, promising sweet wine. These are the vines that so grace the vineyards in Italy, and give a little family their livelihood.
The huge metal gate was covered by thick vines entwining themselves on each column. The gloomy-looking mansion looming behind it didn’t make Jay feel any welcome at all. But he was already drenched from head to toe from the rain. Jay badly needed some shelter to shield him from the baring fangs of the cold. He gave the gate a strong push and the vines snapped; the gate creaked open slowly.
Jay gulped but he had no choice. He made a dash for the front door.
Threads trailing between us, split ends shredding, untwining, spiraling away like vines twisting towards the sun.
I reach out my arm, a thread dangling from my coat sleeve.
I see your ear, in the bitter red cold, before your back faces me.
My arm quits and my hand falls to my side.
vines are beautiful.
vines crawl
vines meander
latch onto things
kind of similar to my love for you
latching on to anything that lives
I hope we can be vines together
intertwining at the end.
Vines gorw all around my face
squeezing the brains out through my
ears through my eyes
rip my body into shreds
cutting through veins and fat
organs and all
ripping, tear ripping me apart
shredding
shredding
rip
Spindled, what would it feel like to be old bones, having decayed. Snakes crawling through your empty rib cage like vines, where clutches of eggs are deposited in the dark void that arches. How comforting to think that you still shelter life even after your marrow’s gone dry.
Years go by and all the cracks of your skull have been split open wide by time.
Time and time and time again, to shudder is not to shuffle, yet it bears uncanny resemblance to those unburdened mortal coils.
Standing in the dirt, she sucked on the last of her cigarette and extinguished it in the wet sand.
All this just to see The Vines, what a waste of time. She looked sneeringly at her companions, what assholes.
Better if she’d just stayed at home. Smoked bongs. Watched Adventure Time.
God she was a loser.
are winding are bought and taught finger tendril downward speaking in greens and mud and licking pavement and faded walls. it creeps and i creep with it. i fall alongside it. their support holds me up.
vines are beautiful.
vines crawl
vines meander
latch onto things
kind of similar to my love for you
lactching on to anything that lives
i hope we can be vines together
intertwining at the end.
The vines wrapped around Kathy’s legs, stopping her from moving.
STOP she yelled…cried, pathetically but it was too late, her companions were gone..running at full speed from what was coming around the corner.
She heard a rustle behind her, twigs snapping, branches being crushed.
She took a swallowed hard and whimpered. Her time was up.
They were creepy and wound right around you- spewing juices all over that made you melancholy and joyous at the same time. that’s their power. that’s how they get their victims
The house had vines running up the side of it. It has been neglected for years after the owner passed away. His kids neglected the house just as they had neglected to visit their father. When they showed up at the house the neighbors were suprised Old Man Winters even had kids.
weine nicht, die sonne wird wieder scheinen und auch die weintrauben werden erneut sprießen und den riesling für’s nächste jahr in ihren aftigen bäuchen heranreifen lassen, bevor die reben schwer werden mit ihren produkten wie myriarden von schwangeren weibern, die sich mit letzter kraft an lianen im urwald festhalten um nicht auf dem harten der realität zerdrückt zu werden, sollten sie dennoch loslassen und hinunterfallen.
My favourite fruit, Grapes comes from vines. One day I was on holiday in Italy, Rome and we were walking on the countryside road and we saw a whole field of vines!!
climb atmosphere
straddling to nowhere
wishing wanted wanting
a path to somewhere
instead apathy
a framed picture of nothing
the vines get in the way
i’m not sentimental
but our memories still remain
as the puss, the love, the apathy
still grow wildly.
They twist through my mind like a disease. Fertilising every nerve to the point of paranoia. Every so often they bloom; brought forth by some small, insignificant detail that sparks the yearly region in my mind. The vines then become a tropical jungle, darkening my horizons; warning of a storm localised within me. So encompassing are the sounds of my jungle I fall into my own trap. Lost in an illusion so vivid, so real, it haunts my every waking moment.
Her thoughts grew from the cesspools of her mind, creeping up out of the gutters, climbing through the grates and griping the ankles of all who passed, clinging and curling, pulling them back down into the depths of her mental disease.
Vines grow endlessley into the wall of my home. The water takes care of them and lets them continue into a mess of knots. Sour small grapes appear along each vine as my finger follows each allowing them all the tu
Vines. Creeping tendrils. Damp tangy smell of earth. Green in spring, bursting forth, leafy goodness. Fruits of vines, left to ripen, sweet, fermenting, decay until death for winter. Then only the brittle bones left, like an old man’s skeleton.
Vines. There are all manner of them. My favorite types grow in the rainforest. Orchids of all types. Birds of paradise. Both botanical and ornithological.
the vines are creeping all over me. They’re in my nose. I feel them reaching up into my brains, trying to get to my thoughts. My thoughts are sacred. Vines! I shall not lend you my thoughts! I shall fight you! I shall drink from you.
they came down from the walls
the walls that crowned
the outside of your
abode.
I remember the nights
they tangled us up
as we kissed
and we werre pressed
against the bricks
after sneaking away
from your window.
I loved you then
as I love you now.
He’d never understood why he couldn’t just leave. Just go over the castle walls like the vines that left seemingly without a care. He sighed. They were so free; so brave to go out and seek their own way in the world. They were so unlike him. He was too afraid to even try to peek his head out of the gates that kept him confined here.
The skin on my hand cracked as I pulled another vine away from my face. It was so hot that even my sweat wasn’t enough to keep my skin from cracking as the sun licked away all the moisture that came to my skin.
“Banyan VINES” (for Virtual Integrated NEtwork Service) was a computer network operating system and the set of computer network protocols it used to talk to client machines on the network.
— Wikipedia
Grapevines like veins only rearranged anatomically, and gramaticcaly
Only barriers that seperate us are the small pixels and rules
if I could only defy [rules] you and I would be like vines and veins
The same but different only divided by conventions.
creeping and slimy they crawled up my flesh, touching and making my skin shiver. i tried to lie as still as i could while they began to cover me. my heart was beating like a race horses hooves on hard packed dirt. i could hear there footsteps coming closer. i wish the vines would cover me faster, or else they would find me
Come to me in these ruins. Let me tendril up your spine, send you estactic pleasure that makes you shudder as we entwine. I know I need this just as much as you, can you feel me, feel me in these vines? All I want for now is to look into your eyes.
They wrapped around each other as they grew, spiraling around as they inched their way across the walls of the house. Crawling vines, broad leaves covering more and more wall space, to gather in more light, to grow even more. I loved it though, covering my walls in colorful, green beauty. What I couldn’t stand were the bugs.
Tentacles reaching, searching. They seek the light, and room to breathe and spread and explore. Tendrils test the air before growing and developing.
The vines began to tighten around her throat, slowly, but she didn’t notice. She had long been dead, and no one cared enough to find her here. The search had stopped years ago. Her blind eyes stared and watched the seasons pass.
This reminds me of the Jonas Brothers album that released when I was in fifth grade called Lines Vines and Trying Times. I remember gram picked Nicole and I up from school and we rushed our way through Walmart to buy it. A very good album
It’s strange. You’d think that after all this time, that someone would have found this garden and tried to clean it up – tear down the wild green vines that hang from the pale stone walls that are cracking to bits. But no, it’s still a place of nature, unknown and undiscovered, and that’s what terrifies me the most.
My eyes were wandering around the humongous place when somewhere, they unintentionally stopped. As if my eyes were a leader and my body was a following army, my whole body froze as my eyes did. A lifeless swing seemed as if it’s delicate vine arms were about to fall out of the branch’s grip.
The vines crept slowly up the limestone exterior of the buildings, slowly, inexoriably, more and more every year. Dead and brown in the winter, slumbering, waiting for the sun-kissed warmth of spring to burst into life again, making the ivory towers green and shading the brilliant ideas withing.
The vines. That’s where we first met. I was on holiday with my parents, 9 years old, bustling through a patch of wild bushes, which in my mind were to be called ‘the vines’. As my parents practiced their high-school french with the neighbour, I spotted the neighbours grandson on his hands and knees.
They were the hours
When we existed in wandering vines
and our separate skins crawled against one another
and you weren’t holding me
and I wasn’t holding you
but still we were
holding
I feel as if I am made of trees
And when I am with you I am a forest
And I’m just so very grateful that I can see the stars in the night sky
Vines that snake all around the wooden stakes, vines with heavy, luscious grapes sprouting from it, centimeters apart, grapes that are round, purple and shiny, promising sweet wine. These are the vines that so grace the vineyards in Italy, and give a little family their livelihood.
The huge metal gate was covered by thick vines entwining themselves on each column. The gloomy-looking mansion looming behind it didn’t make Jay feel any welcome at all. But he was already drenched from head to toe from the rain. Jay badly needed some shelter to shield him from the baring fangs of the cold. He gave the gate a strong push and the vines snapped; the gate creaked open slowly.
Jay gulped but he had no choice. He made a dash for the front door.
Threads trailing between us, split ends shredding, untwining, spiraling away like vines twisting towards the sun.
I reach out my arm, a thread dangling from my coat sleeve.
I see your ear, in the bitter red cold, before your back faces me.
My arm quits and my hand falls to my side.
The journey went rougher this time. We struck into the woods and entered upon a rough time, stumbling over roots, and getting tangled in vines.
vines are beautiful.
vines crawl
vines meander
latch onto things
kind of similar to my love for you
latching on to anything that lives
I hope we can be vines together
intertwining at the end.
Vines gorw all around my face
squeezing the brains out through my
ears through my eyes
rip my body into shreds
cutting through veins and fat
organs and all
ripping, tear ripping me apart
shredding
shredding
rip
Spindled, what would it feel like to be old bones, having decayed. Snakes crawling through your empty rib cage like vines, where clutches of eggs are deposited in the dark void that arches. How comforting to think that you still shelter life even after your marrow’s gone dry.
Years go by and all the cracks of your skull have been split open wide by time.
Time and time and time again, to shudder is not to shuffle, yet it bears uncanny resemblance to those unburdened mortal coils.
Vines grapevines coalmines between the lines me and mines.
grapes, wine, tarzan, france, cheese, holidays, relaxation, family, love, Happy
Standing in the dirt, she sucked on the last of her cigarette and extinguished it in the wet sand.
All this just to see The Vines, what a waste of time. She looked sneeringly at her companions, what assholes.
Better if she’d just stayed at home. Smoked bongs. Watched Adventure Time.
God she was a loser.
are winding are bought and taught finger tendril downward speaking in greens and mud and licking pavement and faded walls. it creeps and i creep with it. i fall alongside it. their support holds me up.
vines are beautiful.
vines crawl
vines meander
latch onto things
kind of similar to my love for you
lactching on to anything that lives
i hope we can be vines together
intertwining at the end.
The vines wrapped around Kathy’s legs, stopping her from moving.
STOP she yelled…cried, pathetically but it was too late, her companions were gone..running at full speed from what was coming around the corner.
She heard a rustle behind her, twigs snapping, branches being crushed.
She took a swallowed hard and whimpered. Her time was up.
They were creepy and wound right around you- spewing juices all over that made you melancholy and joyous at the same time. that’s their power. that’s how they get their victims
The house had vines running up the side of it. It has been neglected for years after the owner passed away. His kids neglected the house just as they had neglected to visit their father. When they showed up at the house the neighbors were suprised Old Man Winters even had kids.
weine nicht, die sonne wird wieder scheinen und auch die weintrauben werden erneut sprießen und den riesling für’s nächste jahr in ihren aftigen bäuchen heranreifen lassen, bevor die reben schwer werden mit ihren produkten wie myriarden von schwangeren weibern, die sich mit letzter kraft an lianen im urwald festhalten um nicht auf dem harten der realität zerdrückt zu werden, sollten sie dennoch loslassen und hinunterfallen.
My favourite fruit, Grapes comes from vines. One day I was on holiday in Italy, Rome and we were walking on the countryside road and we saw a whole field of vines!!
climb atmosphere
straddling to nowhere
wishing wanted wanting
a path to somewhere
instead apathy
a framed picture of nothing
the vines get in the way
i’m not sentimental
but our memories still remain
as the puss, the love, the apathy
still grow wildly.
They twist through my mind like a disease. Fertilising every nerve to the point of paranoia. Every so often they bloom; brought forth by some small, insignificant detail that sparks the yearly region in my mind. The vines then become a tropical jungle, darkening my horizons; warning of a storm localised within me. So encompassing are the sounds of my jungle I fall into my own trap. Lost in an illusion so vivid, so real, it haunts my every waking moment.
Her thoughts grew from the cesspools of her mind, creeping up out of the gutters, climbing through the grates and griping the ankles of all who passed, clinging and curling, pulling them back down into the depths of her mental disease.
Vines grow endlessley into the wall of my home. The water takes care of them and lets them continue into a mess of knots. Sour small grapes appear along each vine as my finger follows each allowing them all the tu
Vines. Creeping tendrils. Damp tangy smell of earth. Green in spring, bursting forth, leafy goodness. Fruits of vines, left to ripen, sweet, fermenting, decay until death for winter. Then only the brittle bones left, like an old man’s skeleton.
Vines. There are all manner of them. My favorite types grow in the rainforest. Orchids of all types. Birds of paradise. Both botanical and ornithological.
the vines are creeping all over me. They’re in my nose. I feel them reaching up into my brains, trying to get to my thoughts. My thoughts are sacred. Vines! I shall not lend you my thoughts! I shall fight you! I shall drink from you.
they came down from the walls
the walls that crowned
the outside of your
abode.
I remember the nights
they tangled us up
as we kissed
and we werre pressed
against the bricks
after sneaking away
from your window.
I loved you then
as I love you now.
He’d never understood why he couldn’t just leave. Just go over the castle walls like the vines that left seemingly without a care. He sighed. They were so free; so brave to go out and seek their own way in the world. They were so unlike him. He was too afraid to even try to peek his head out of the gates that kept him confined here.
The skin on my hand cracked as I pulled another vine away from my face. It was so hot that even my sweat wasn’t enough to keep my skin from cracking as the sun licked away all the moisture that came to my skin.
“Banyan VINES” (for Virtual Integrated NEtwork Service) was a computer network operating system and the set of computer network protocols it used to talk to client machines on the network.
— Wikipedia
Grapevines like veins only rearranged anatomically, and gramaticcaly
Only barriers that seperate us are the small pixels and rules
if I could only defy [rules] you and I would be like vines and veins
The same but different only divided by conventions.
creeping and slimy they crawled up my flesh, touching and making my skin shiver. i tried to lie as still as i could while they began to cover me. my heart was beating like a race horses hooves on hard packed dirt. i could hear there footsteps coming closer. i wish the vines would cover me faster, or else they would find me