Suddenly I could see the scene playing in slow motion; she was throwing the contents of a wine glass at me. I felt the cold, wet splash and smell of alcohol all over my face.
Crazy bitch.
my insides feel wet. like deep inside of me. it’s warm. i know the weather is cold and the walk home will make me shiver, but i don’t seem to mind because right now the feelings i have are warm, ready,wet, and no longer indifferent.
As the kitchen faucet leaked in easy steady beats
I mused about the puddles outside
Sipped from my warm mug of spicy chi
And chuckled at a silent thought
Were silly gingerbread men alive,
It would all be for naught
They’d sooner disintegrate
Before they’d a chance to outpace a hurricane
There was a girl running through the streets. She was cold and wet and above all else very, very afraid. The Men were coming after her. It was only a matter of time before they figured out she’d escaped and they’d be after her. She knew the punishment for escape was death if caught. She however did not intend to be caught. She had seen the sewer entrances everywhere. She knew, in spite of the stench, they were warm and at least relatively safe. Safer than whoring that is. Some of the men, and on occasion women, had some intensely fucked up fetishes. Some even would insist upon murdering their girls. She knew it was only a matter of time before the Men would sacrifice her to them. So she must get away. She must get to the sewers. The Men would not follow her there. That was the safest place in the world right now.
The windowsill was wet, so when she ran her hand over it that morning, the dewdrops clung to her skin and sent shivers down her bare arm. Strange, she thought, since the window was closed. It had been closed all night.
I stumbled into my home sopping wet and smelling like a half-sobered homeless man who had spent the night next to a dumpster. Not my ideal day, but I only thought that it couldn’t get any worse. That is, until my cat came to me and rubbed against my leg. Trying to pet her with a wet hand was a bad idea…
The rain fell across the road like heavy beads falling from the sky. He looked at me from underneath his dripping hair. I had no idea what he was about to do. There was a strange look in his eyes.
One of the cutest sights in the world has to be when cats go outside in the wet and lift their feet really high, flicking them as they go, in an attempt to keep dry. Adorable.
its raining so much that it got wet inside my houe. even my shoes got wet. the cat got wet and he wasn’t pleased. heck i wasn’t pleased. i need to get this place dry now before i get electricuted and
The dog is wet. He was washed recently and now his fur is dripping and he smells. Not bad, just wet. I want to walk him. I take him outside to the bright sunshine and he immediately shakes his wet fur all over me. I see a rainbow in the droplets. This is good. I see my neighbor walking down the street. He sees me and waves. I am smiling and I wave back.
The dog got really wet in the pool, of course. I had to dry him up real quick before ma got home…but the dog ran all over the house and got all over the sofa. Damn, I hate it. I love the dog, but I hate that DAMN smell. …Wet dogs, I swear………..
it’s damp. it surrounds and weighs down a person. it’s cool refreshing and drinks in you as you drink it in. It’s often blue expands as a solid. It’s original. It covers most of the earth in a blue blanket.
The flipper fell off of her foot down the 20 feet to the swirling surf. The smoke still rose on the horizon from what used to be her beautiful yacht. The assassins had been very thorough but not very accurate.
Wet? The streets were wet with the fresh rain. I could see my reflection everywhere, in every puddle. It was the same face i’ve seen all my life but still somehow different. I wondered what happened to change the way I see myself.
the canvas was wet with dew from the morning. It had a sort of disgusting quality to it, not sexual or repulsive, but somehow it deterred me from its presence. I only wish now that I had taken the time to put something onto that canvas, before the day had ended and not only was it dry of the morning dew, but it was now wet with my blood.
its amazing
your touch
the tone of your voice
your effortless showcase of masculinity
the way every word you speak to me so perfectly bounces off my eardrum
the same way the light mixes with the pigment of your hershey’s chocolate skin and bounces off the retina of my eye
such a privilege to experience something so beautiful
its amazing how just the thought of you is all it takes…for me….to get…..
There are stages. First you walk past the fence and see the broken images of the blue water whiz by. It’s like foreshadowing. A splash. I lifeguard. The green grass. The water. An umbrella. You walk through the gate and get hit with that chlorine smell.
We walked with our pant cuffs rolled up. The puddles in the grass were nothing; they wouldn’t stop us. We had places to go and things to do! We simply rolled our pant cuffs and off we went. It’s been awhile since my trousers were rolled.
The soles of my feet were wet, soggy, dancing around the leaves that had been plastered to the ground. The rain felt light, not heavy at all. It was eating away at the burdens that lay upon my back.
swimming in the lake with my cousins having the time of our lives not thinking or worrying about what will happen to us but just living in the moment we dont care when the sun goes down we just wanna have fun while were young it doesn’t matter whose watching or how old we really are but when the time is now you just gotta do it wet is summer and summer is the definition of free living when you want to
Nothing makes me happier than a rainy day.
You don’t get much rain in California.
Shame.
I hate the heat. I hate the sticky humidity.
Give me cold and wet any day of the week.
Clark leaps down the steps of the fire escape, one after another he continues downward fifteen floors. The building above him starts to crumble and deteriorate, sending chunks of brick and metal crashing down. Clark hugs the wall as the debris barely misses him, he looks up and checks his surroundings, and makes his way downward three more floors. Knowing that he has minutes left to escape the building, he contemplates jumping from the sixth floor, until he hears a voice from behind him, “Mister”. There’s a window and a shadowy figure enveloped in flames. He squints his eyes to get a better look at it, when it explodes, shattering the window, sending pieces of razor sharp glass towards him. He flies off the roof twirling in the air, reaches his zenith, and plummets down towards the concrete.
“MISTER COGDEN!”
Clark wakes up in a room full of eyes staring at him. He sits up straight, rubs his eyes and replies.
“yes?”
my face is wet thanks to the weird kid in line talking to me and spraying his mouth juice with every word that comes out, next time i come here i’ll bring an umbrella. but this girl is next to me and i’d have to
It’s dark and he’s wet. Neither are uncommon things, but together they do raise some questions. He’s not sure what has saturated his clothing because of the lack of illumination, and all he can make out is an irregular, sticky black stain. There’s a pungent scent in the air that takes him a moment to place, but when he does, he frantically scrambles to his hands and knees and begins to blindly feel for a way out.
Because the fumes thickening the air in his lungs belong to gasoline.
I saw her standing there in the rain and wondered why she never came back inside. Her eyes were sullen, mascara running down her face. It was nasty, nothing right here. It was all wrong, watching her face swell up with tears. I felt guilty, but I just couldn’t open the door to let her back in.
My eyes were wet with tears when my grandmother was admitted in the hospital last week.I never imagined her in that situation.That day i realized my grandmother has actually become old.
the letter left on my pillow. that list. sometimes i open that box, the torn up adidas box. it sits on my shelf and grows heavier. the lid is warped, the corners cracked. that letter, left on my pillow. i came home. face wet with tears. the corners of my eyes sticky. i came so close to his lips, and backed away. the memory is dark. a loud room. a stranger’s hands on my hips. the cold walk home. my face wet, my voice wet. crawling into your bed and whispering my confession. that letter on my pillow.
The wet hasn’t arrived yet, and we’re all still waiting. Wondering, and hoping this sunshine will hold out for a few more weeks of traipsing around golf courses and city parks and the streets of suburbs. Hoping.
Sunny, rainy days. Swimming, showers, noticably small insects coming out to play. Love. Kissing in the rain/ I Never once did that. I wish I could. I am a hopeless romantic and I am getting off subject here. Wet…a word that describes. A feeling.
Things are soaking. I’m standing outside your door, in the pouring rain. I can feel it, dripping over my skin. drenching my hair. It clouds my eyes when I try to see where you are, and blocks the sound of my voice calling out to you.
The rain seems to never end. But I can see you. You’re just inside your room, on your computer.
POOL
beach
house
him
baby
lollypop
tea
mistakes
horticulture
murderer
sugar
It was so wet that afternoon, it felt even wrong. Then my eyes went wet aswell, as I saw you leaving me, forever this time.
“What are you doing!?”
Suddenly I could see the scene playing in slow motion; she was throwing the contents of a wine glass at me. I felt the cold, wet splash and smell of alcohol all over my face.
Crazy bitch.
my insides feel wet. like deep inside of me. it’s warm. i know the weather is cold and the walk home will make me shiver, but i don’t seem to mind because right now the feelings i have are warm, ready,wet, and no longer indifferent.
As the kitchen faucet leaked in easy steady beats
I mused about the puddles outside
Sipped from my warm mug of spicy chi
And chuckled at a silent thought
Were silly gingerbread men alive,
It would all be for naught
They’d sooner disintegrate
Before they’d a chance to outpace a hurricane
There was a girl running through the streets. She was cold and wet and above all else very, very afraid. The Men were coming after her. It was only a matter of time before they figured out she’d escaped and they’d be after her. She knew the punishment for escape was death if caught. She however did not intend to be caught. She had seen the sewer entrances everywhere. She knew, in spite of the stench, they were warm and at least relatively safe. Safer than whoring that is. Some of the men, and on occasion women, had some intensely fucked up fetishes. Some even would insist upon murdering their girls. She knew it was only a matter of time before the Men would sacrifice her to them. So she must get away. She must get to the sewers. The Men would not follow her there. That was the safest place in the world right now.
The windowsill was wet, so when she ran her hand over it that morning, the dewdrops clung to her skin and sent shivers down her bare arm. Strange, she thought, since the window was closed. It had been closed all night.
I stumbled into my home sopping wet and smelling like a half-sobered homeless man who had spent the night next to a dumpster. Not my ideal day, but I only thought that it couldn’t get any worse. That is, until my cat came to me and rubbed against my leg. Trying to pet her with a wet hand was a bad idea…
The rain fell across the road like heavy beads falling from the sky. He looked at me from underneath his dripping hair. I had no idea what he was about to do. There was a strange look in his eyes.
One of the cutest sights in the world has to be when cats go outside in the wet and lift their feet really high, flicking them as they go, in an attempt to keep dry. Adorable.
its raining so much that it got wet inside my houe. even my shoes got wet. the cat got wet and he wasn’t pleased. heck i wasn’t pleased. i need to get this place dry now before i get electricuted and
The dog is wet. He was washed recently and now his fur is dripping and he smells. Not bad, just wet. I want to walk him. I take him outside to the bright sunshine and he immediately shakes his wet fur all over me. I see a rainbow in the droplets. This is good. I see my neighbor walking down the street. He sees me and waves. I am smiling and I wave back.
The dog got really wet in the pool, of course. I had to dry him up real quick before ma got home…but the dog ran all over the house and got all over the sofa. Damn, I hate it. I love the dog, but I hate that DAMN smell. …Wet dogs, I swear………..
it’s damp. it surrounds and weighs down a person. it’s cool refreshing and drinks in you as you drink it in. It’s often blue expands as a solid. It’s original. It covers most of the earth in a blue blanket.
The flipper fell off of her foot down the 20 feet to the swirling surf. The smoke still rose on the horizon from what used to be her beautiful yacht. The assassins had been very thorough but not very accurate.
Wet? The streets were wet with the fresh rain. I could see my reflection everywhere, in every puddle. It was the same face i’ve seen all my life but still somehow different. I wondered what happened to change the way I see myself.
the canvas was wet with dew from the morning. It had a sort of disgusting quality to it, not sexual or repulsive, but somehow it deterred me from its presence. I only wish now that I had taken the time to put something onto that canvas, before the day had ended and not only was it dry of the morning dew, but it was now wet with my blood.
its amazing
your touch
the tone of your voice
your effortless showcase of masculinity
the way every word you speak to me so perfectly bounces off my eardrum
the same way the light mixes with the pigment of your hershey’s chocolate skin and bounces off the retina of my eye
such a privilege to experience something so beautiful
its amazing how just the thought of you is all it takes…for me….to get…..
There are stages. First you walk past the fence and see the broken images of the blue water whiz by. It’s like foreshadowing. A splash. I lifeguard. The green grass. The water. An umbrella. You walk through the gate and get hit with that chlorine smell.
He flipped the hair out of his eyes, clearing space for the rain to get into them. “Poets,” he thought, “don’t know anything about rain.”
We walked with our pant cuffs rolled up. The puddles in the grass were nothing; they wouldn’t stop us. We had places to go and things to do! We simply rolled our pant cuffs and off we went. It’s been awhile since my trousers were rolled.
The soles of my feet were wet, soggy, dancing around the leaves that had been plastered to the ground. The rain felt light, not heavy at all. It was eating away at the burdens that lay upon my back.
swimming in the lake with my cousins having the time of our lives not thinking or worrying about what will happen to us but just living in the moment we dont care when the sun goes down we just wanna have fun while were young it doesn’t matter whose watching or how old we really are but when the time is now you just gotta do it wet is summer and summer is the definition of free living when you want to
Nothing makes me happier than a rainy day.
You don’t get much rain in California.
Shame.
I hate the heat. I hate the sticky humidity.
Give me cold and wet any day of the week.
Clark leaps down the steps of the fire escape, one after another he continues downward fifteen floors. The building above him starts to crumble and deteriorate, sending chunks of brick and metal crashing down. Clark hugs the wall as the debris barely misses him, he looks up and checks his surroundings, and makes his way downward three more floors. Knowing that he has minutes left to escape the building, he contemplates jumping from the sixth floor, until he hears a voice from behind him, “Mister”. There’s a window and a shadowy figure enveloped in flames. He squints his eyes to get a better look at it, when it explodes, shattering the window, sending pieces of razor sharp glass towards him. He flies off the roof twirling in the air, reaches his zenith, and plummets down towards the concrete.
“MISTER COGDEN!”
Clark wakes up in a room full of eyes staring at him. He sits up straight, rubs his eyes and replies.
“yes?”
my face is wet thanks to the weird kid in line talking to me and spraying his mouth juice with every word that comes out, next time i come here i’ll bring an umbrella. but this girl is next to me and i’d have to
It’s dark and he’s wet. Neither are uncommon things, but together they do raise some questions. He’s not sure what has saturated his clothing because of the lack of illumination, and all he can make out is an irregular, sticky black stain. There’s a pungent scent in the air that takes him a moment to place, but when he does, he frantically scrambles to his hands and knees and begins to blindly feel for a way out.
Because the fumes thickening the air in his lungs belong to gasoline.
Like the inside of a coconut
Like blood
Like ocean
Like beads
Like rivulets
Like streams
Like condensation
Some like it wet.
I saw her standing there in the rain and wondered why she never came back inside. Her eyes were sullen, mascara running down her face. It was nasty, nothing right here. It was all wrong, watching her face swell up with tears. I felt guilty, but I just couldn’t open the door to let her back in.
My eyes were wet with tears when my grandmother was admitted in the hospital last week.I never imagined her in that situation.That day i realized my grandmother has actually become old.
the letter left on my pillow. that list. sometimes i open that box, the torn up adidas box. it sits on my shelf and grows heavier. the lid is warped, the corners cracked. that letter, left on my pillow. i came home. face wet with tears. the corners of my eyes sticky. i came so close to his lips, and backed away. the memory is dark. a loud room. a stranger’s hands on my hips. the cold walk home. my face wet, my voice wet. crawling into your bed and whispering my confession. that letter on my pillow.
The wet hasn’t arrived yet, and we’re all still waiting. Wondering, and hoping this sunshine will hold out for a few more weeks of traipsing around golf courses and city parks and the streets of suburbs. Hoping.
lavender
It was cold and wet outside that day. He said that he would protect me, like he always would. But it didn’t go the way it should have.
The sidewalk was stained with blood. The birds chirped uneasily in the trees.
I had never been so afraid. There was a monster inside us all.
Hop, hop, hop in the puddle.
Sing, sing, sing in the rain.
Dance, dance, dance to the rythmn…
as we sing..sing..sing in the rain.
What a beautiful day, what a beautiful day…as we hop hop hop in the rain!
(Clapppp along)
Hop, hop, hop in the puddle..singsingsing in the rain!!
Soppy, soaking, bathtime fun, bath toys, flippers…
Ocean, dolphin…seagull call.
Swimming, splashing, summertime.
Rainy, rainy, summer time…spring showers, flowers…sweet sweet smells.
Washing, washing…
Wet, like a glimmer of blue on black
I’ve had a dry soul my whole life
begging, screaming to be wet, not just to have water sprinkled, but to possess water, to move it and be moved by it.
Someday I will speak in water bubbles.
Sunny, rainy days. Swimming, showers, noticably small insects coming out to play. Love. Kissing in the rain/ I Never once did that. I wish I could. I am a hopeless romantic and I am getting off subject here. Wet…a word that describes. A feeling.
Things are soaking. I’m standing outside your door, in the pouring rain. I can feel it, dripping over my skin. drenching my hair. It clouds my eyes when I try to see where you are, and blocks the sound of my voice calling out to you.
The rain seems to never end. But I can see you. You’re just inside your room, on your computer.
You don’t even see me, but I’m seeing everything.
You don’t even know, that I’m about to kill you.
Isn’t is amazing that our bodies can keep the wet in? And the wet out? Marvelous sheilds against the world.
But now what? I’m all dried up.