They stalk the weak and near-dead, waiting for the death rattle of their prey to occur. Vultures fly in to eat on the remains of the deceased and I can’t really think of shit because that annoying buzzer just went dinggggggg. I suck at this oneword shit.
a vulture is something that sweeps down and attacks what little there is to attack of someone who has died; they kick you while your down and add insult to injury. they are simply sick creatures.
he is waiting because he never feels the spark. but one day, he says, the spark will come. and one day it does, but those are fireworks in the distance and they catch his wings a bit and he falls to waiting again. and one day, he says, I will find the spark.
The vultures circled. Slowly. I watched them from the interior of the car, wondering to myself what would happen when the gas ran out. Would he be back? Would I be here? As I lit a Marlboro, cracked the window slightly, one of them ventured toward the car.
To tear apart to destroy, to ruin, to leave nothing behind, some one who wants to leave you, alone, with nothing, some one who wants to see you in pain, destroyed, some one who wont stand for just hurting you a little, they must go ALL the way.
Has there ever been a time when a man upon his final moments felt utterly confident? How many see the vulture circling above them waiting to pick at their remains. Or do we thrift to a mental state beyond worry and premonition.
the vultrue is an interesting species nasty rotten scavenging bird smelling of piss shit and rotten baby fesis. Horrible ragged skin all of which is due to sun damage and circling the deserts below. Oh vulture please leave me today and never return for I am not interested in your terrible shit fuck off!
She was a vulture. She pissed me off. I hate vultures, does this mean I hate her? I don’t get it. Why would someone be such a mean, bitchy vulture? I say vulture too much, but that’s because I look at the top of the screen and see that word looming at me, quite like a vulture waiting for something to die, so it can eat. So it can be happy. Like her. She wanted to be happy. I wouldn’t let her. I’m not going to let her. she’s not going to be a vulture anymore, because I’m happy.
Hovering above our lives like a cloud of the future, a host of carrion eaters prey on our psyches. Mortgage, Job, Marriage, Old age. They pick apart the present at the cost of tomorrow. Feeding on our despair, they grow torpid and obscenely fat.
He was waiting for her at the bus stop. A real vulture of a man. Thin lips, a long, pockmarked nose and a demeanor that said; I am about to devour you, I’m just waiting for you to die first.
They’re circling now. Beautiful somehow, personifications of Charon, carriers of ghosts. Wings wide and all encompassing. Gliders, scavengers of the wind itself. The world doesn’t recognize that sort of beauty anymore, it’s too hard to look at.
carrion, they eat it..
they dont look like turkeys
they are birds
raptors.
i learned about them in 5th grade
they are the beauty of nature
they clean up the roads
The lady in the vulture hat. i think she works at rogue. wears her hair in a tight bun like omega. she finds pleasure in soft things, lack of Aristophanes. anyway she finds this coin on a naked stump, stuck in between the bowels of splintered oak. thanking god she invests it in a porcelain doll, she names “Betty”. betty is a bore. stare stare stare says the lady in the vulture hat well no more goddamn staring and betty disappears. but as all good nightmares do. betty comes back. the lady in the vulture hat was walking to the temple to pay for omens when a miracle stared her in the eye. betty. betty on the stairs. betty alone and scared and staring. the lady in the vulture hat tucked the doll under her wings and returned to the coop. forty nights come and go. betty all she does is stare. constant. endless. reminding: seconds have no soul. betty is in the dump. the dump is taken. trash becomes treasure. child loves betty. child and mother bring betty to grandmothers. the lady in the vulture hat stares. goddamn it child where did you find that. child cries, child loves betty. grandmother calls the mom a whore and kicks them back into the streets like urchins and salami. regrets come. door opens, lips part, too late. but there is betty. alone and scared and staring. the lady in the vulture hat embraces betty like a sinner loves cannabis. they say she was found in her attic, hanging lovely, like a christmas tree ornament. and betty. betty was just staring and staring and staring…
he looked like a vulture. Even the way his back hunched when he paced up and down the sidewalk smoking his cigarette. Up and down just waiting to hear the of death. Ready to pick the bones, chew the flesh and drink the blood. he made me sick.
The vulture sat mindlessly pillaging the desert with marble eyes, like dice. Wind graced the sanded carpet, sun licked its soul dry, an Indian song crept across like orgasmssss….
there were some demanding moments, as the beaked bird stared down at me, angry, intense. So I hit it with a rock. That fucking bird had no clue what was coming. You’d think something with good visual acuity would be more prepared, and be able to react. I mean, birds are never hit by cars, or at least almost never, right? So why didn’t it dodge the fucking rock?!
vultures pick at the bones, the bones get picked and cleaned out dry and they digest what was once living and use it to help them keep living until a shot rings out from a 22 and their heads explode, no more meat for them. then theyre reincarnated as a goat.
there was a vulture sitting on top of his head. i thought he was dead, but i realized he was just being eaten alive. and he was okay with that! i saw the saddness in his eyes, and they were glazed over like he hadnt been happy enough to look through them in years. it was tragic. so i walked by, shooed the vulture, and eventually he made it out of his own head alive.
Do you look further? Do you see past the limp and useless heap of meat? I do, my eyes pick apart the picture of the body like a scavenger looking for a meal. My eyes descern all that is to be said, they see all that is to be seen..my eyes are vultures of thier own.
An ugly scavenger of the skies, the vulture will wait for its prey to die before swooping down and feasting on its carcas. Commonly seen in cartoons circling in the desert skies this bird has gotten a terrible wrap.
It was his bald head and his protruding nose that made him look like a vulture. His glaring blue eyes and prominent brow with bushy white eyebrows didn’t help either. He scared me at times when he stared at me. I didn’t know it then, but he was a kind soul.
Vultures are birds of prey who often circle carrion in the desert. I don’t like vultures because they’re a bit creepy and I think they should die. Then the dead vulture could be eaten by a vulture. Actually, a human eating vulture soup would be quite ironic…
oh all I can think of is snow white. ironically, I FREAKING HATE SNOW WHITE. she is the worst princess. she’s afraid of trees and faints, while belle frickin chased off wolves. I wish snow white was eaten by vultures. that’s what she’d get for being so stupid.
god but instead they live happily ever after. who wants that?
Vultures are terrible creatures. Preying on the weak. Harvesting the dead. They circle when they see a dying animal.
People can be vultures. Circling when they see trouble, trying to make the most out of it for themselves.
I hate vultures.
The vultures circled overhead. We worried about what we would find when we got to the area. the desert is not kind to those who do not know how to survive there. What had happened? Would we find anything?
Ha I saw the wrong word. My brother, the vulture I am scared of him even though he is behind bars. He says he has a letter from our deceased mother stating that she will never let me stab her in the back again
creepy and arrogant, he circles over a helpless, dead prey. What honor is there in this? In biology, at all? the vulture is just another animal. I can hold nothing against it.
They stalk the weak and near-dead, waiting for the death rattle of their prey to occur. Vultures fly in to eat on the remains of the deceased and I can’t really think of shit because that annoying buzzer just went dinggggggg. I suck at this oneword shit.
We called ourselves vultures for eating left over food. It was uneaten from a meeting. I felt odd but others were thrilled.
a vulture is something that sweeps down and attacks what little there is to attack of someone who has died; they kick you while your down and add insult to injury. they are simply sick creatures.
he is waiting because he never feels the spark. but one day, he says, the spark will come. and one day it does, but those are fireworks in the distance and they catch his wings a bit and he falls to waiting again. and one day, he says, I will find the spark.
The vultures circled. Slowly. I watched them from the interior of the car, wondering to myself what would happen when the gas ran out. Would he be back? Would I be here? As I lit a Marlboro, cracked the window slightly, one of them ventured toward the car.
The vulture sat on the high scraggly branch against the ashen sky. It eyes piercing the landscape that lay before him.
ate at my skin as i felt my body giving up on me.
The vulture swept down from the sky. It appeared as if his lunch was soon to be had. It is unfortunate that to save his life e
he is a vulture in disguse he wants to know and you want to tell but you know he is a vulture.
a smiley bird that kills people on site, many people have reported this bird to be a psychotic killing freak and should hug when need be.
To tear apart to destroy, to ruin, to leave nothing behind, some one who wants to leave you, alone, with nothing, some one who wants to see you in pain, destroyed, some one who wont stand for just hurting you a little, they must go ALL the way.
Oh my turkey vulture prehistoric swooping down smelling the death eating devouring the carcass.
Has there ever been a time when a man upon his final moments felt utterly confident? How many see the vulture circling above them waiting to pick at their remains. Or do we thrift to a mental state beyond worry and premonition.
the vultrue is an interesting species nasty rotten scavenging bird smelling of piss shit and rotten baby fesis. Horrible ragged skin all of which is due to sun damage and circling the deserts below. Oh vulture please leave me today and never return for I am not interested in your terrible shit fuck off!
She was a vulture. She pissed me off. I hate vultures, does this mean I hate her? I don’t get it. Why would someone be such a mean, bitchy vulture? I say vulture too much, but that’s because I look at the top of the screen and see that word looming at me, quite like a vulture waiting for something to die, so it can eat. So it can be happy. Like her. She wanted to be happy. I wouldn’t let her. I’m not going to let her. she’s not going to be a vulture anymore, because I’m happy.
Hovering above our lives like a cloud of the future, a host of carrion eaters prey on our psyches. Mortgage, Job, Marriage, Old age. They pick apart the present at the cost of tomorrow. Feeding on our despair, they grow torpid and obscenely fat.
He was waiting for her at the bus stop. A real vulture of a man. Thin lips, a long, pockmarked nose and a demeanor that said; I am about to devour you, I’m just waiting for you to die first.
They’re circling now. Beautiful somehow, personifications of Charon, carriers of ghosts. Wings wide and all encompassing. Gliders, scavengers of the wind itself. The world doesn’t recognize that sort of beauty anymore, it’s too hard to look at.
carrion, they eat it..
they dont look like turkeys
they are birds
raptors.
i learned about them in 5th grade
they are the beauty of nature
they clean up the roads
The lady in the vulture hat. i think she works at rogue. wears her hair in a tight bun like omega. she finds pleasure in soft things, lack of Aristophanes. anyway she finds this coin on a naked stump, stuck in between the bowels of splintered oak. thanking god she invests it in a porcelain doll, she names “Betty”. betty is a bore. stare stare stare says the lady in the vulture hat well no more goddamn staring and betty disappears. but as all good nightmares do. betty comes back. the lady in the vulture hat was walking to the temple to pay for omens when a miracle stared her in the eye. betty. betty on the stairs. betty alone and scared and staring. the lady in the vulture hat tucked the doll under her wings and returned to the coop. forty nights come and go. betty all she does is stare. constant. endless. reminding: seconds have no soul. betty is in the dump. the dump is taken. trash becomes treasure. child loves betty. child and mother bring betty to grandmothers. the lady in the vulture hat stares. goddamn it child where did you find that. child cries, child loves betty. grandmother calls the mom a whore and kicks them back into the streets like urchins and salami. regrets come. door opens, lips part, too late. but there is betty. alone and scared and staring. the lady in the vulture hat embraces betty like a sinner loves cannabis. they say she was found in her attic, hanging lovely, like a christmas tree ornament. and betty. betty was just staring and staring and staring…
he looked like a vulture. Even the way his back hunched when he paced up and down the sidewalk smoking his cigarette. Up and down just waiting to hear the of death. Ready to pick the bones, chew the flesh and drink the blood. he made me sick.
El ave rapi
The vultures circled over head.
“They can tell you are close to death,”I said. “It won’t be long till they have you.”
I would have really liked for this to turn out better, such promise. OH well, sorry to disappoint
The vulture sat mindlessly pillaging the desert with marble eyes, like dice. Wind graced the sanded carpet, sun licked its soul dry, an Indian song crept across like orgasmssss….
there were some demanding moments, as the beaked bird stared down at me, angry, intense. So I hit it with a rock. That fucking bird had no clue what was coming. You’d think something with good visual acuity would be more prepared, and be able to react. I mean, birds are never hit by cars, or at least almost never, right? So why didn’t it dodge the fucking rock?!
Fuck.
vultures pick at the bones, the bones get picked and cleaned out dry and they digest what was once living and use it to help them keep living until a shot rings out from a 22 and their heads explode, no more meat for them. then theyre reincarnated as a goat.
deserts, and we are rotten, we are rotten, we fall from the bones and into dirt. we are pushed by the sun.
and we are vultures, and we pick life from death and eat life from death.
beady eyes and red bald head wrinkled hunched shoulders neck of
his beady e
there was a vulture sitting on top of his head. i thought he was dead, but i realized he was just being eaten alive. and he was okay with that! i saw the saddness in his eyes, and they were glazed over like he hadnt been happy enough to look through them in years. it was tragic. so i walked by, shooed the vulture, and eventually he made it out of his own head alive.
Do you look further? Do you see past the limp and useless heap of meat? I do, my eyes pick apart the picture of the body like a scavenger looking for a meal. My eyes descern all that is to be said, they see all that is to be seen..my eyes are vultures of thier own.
An ugly scavenger of the skies, the vulture will wait for its prey to die before swooping down and feasting on its carcas. Commonly seen in cartoons circling in the desert skies this bird has gotten a terrible wrap.
It was his bald head and his protruding nose that made him look like a vulture. His glaring blue eyes and prominent brow with bushy white eyebrows didn’t help either. He scared me at times when he stared at me. I didn’t know it then, but he was a kind soul.
Vultures are birds of prey who often circle carrion in the desert. I don’t like vultures because they’re a bit creepy and I think they should die. Then the dead vulture could be eaten by a vulture. Actually, a human eating vulture soup would be quite ironic…
oh all I can think of is snow white. ironically, I FREAKING HATE SNOW WHITE. she is the worst princess. she’s afraid of trees and faints, while belle frickin chased off wolves. I wish snow white was eaten by vultures. that’s what she’d get for being so stupid.
god but instead they live happily ever after. who wants that?
I do.
Vultures are terrible creatures. Preying on the weak. Harvesting the dead. They circle when they see a dying animal.
People can be vultures. Circling when they see trouble, trying to make the most out of it for themselves.
I hate vultures.
The vultures circled overhead. We worried about what we would find when we got to the area. the desert is not kind to those who do not know how to survive there. What had happened? Would we find anything?
a vulture looks down on the ground. “do I really want to eat that? it doesn’t look so fresh….”
Ha I saw the wrong word. My brother, the vulture I am scared of him even though he is behind bars. He says he has a letter from our deceased mother stating that she will never let me stab her in the back again
i think i saw a vulture in the sky a vulture is a bird with a long neck and is carnivorious it is a scavenger
creepy and arrogant, he circles over a helpless, dead prey. What honor is there in this? In biology, at all? the vulture is just another animal. I can hold nothing against it.