She was withered and tired. She couldn’t keep going on and wanted nothing more than stop and sleep. She was tired of this war and this fighting. She wanted to go back home, but she was never sure if she could go home. She wandered around the camp before settling down next to a tree.
It’s a dangerous thing for one’s resolve to become withered and die. Especially when you’re battling clinical depression without meds, without a shrink. But that’s only for those who are looking at the world of neurotransmitters and self-concept. I can see what the rest of you can’t, something deeper and older and much more powerful than your serotonin supplements. Don’t think I don’t see the bounty on my head. I’ll die before I deny. So shoot your fiery darts, stick me with your daggers of despair, you will never blind me to the light at the end of this tunnel.
he lay there, withered. “i don’t know what to say” he breathed slightly ashamed. he couldn’t get it up and it wasn’t the first time it had happened either. maybe, he had spent to much money on hookers. that had to be the cause. the hookers, the money, and the no real life connection. he missed what it felt like to be loved. no wonder he was withered, his life was withering away every moment he spent in a hotel.
Withered. This was the word that came to mind when she looked in the mirror for the first time in two years. The last time she saw her own reflection she cried and broke every reflective glass at her eye level. Now at a second glance she notices delicate skin around her own fiery blue eyes, the blood beneath her skin pumping fresh color to her cheeks and her lips smiled like thirty years never passed.
her soul withered as she continued to oppress herself in the manacles of the drones living side by side in the world of lies. she questioned many things and spoke openly with others about her opinions, many of them under the spell of society agreed but did not , listen, LISTEN, hear her. They only heard the normalcy, the rise and fall of what they were told by THEM, whoever they are. She dreamed of a world free from confined thought, and instead full of extended love and communication, the exchange of ideas and people helping people, a world where the only currency was learning and mastery and the elders had the respect of past. Only one world did this exist in now…her mind. and others like her. wherever they may be. A few times a year she will meet one or two, each on their own path of enlightenment.
withered is the way a flower feels after its girlfriend doesn’t call.
the child withered in his clothes when he looked up to see his mother kissing a man that wasn’t Daddy.
“Withered and brittle.” She used these words to describe the trees around here in the dead of winter. There wasn’t any snow but if you looked outside from your living room window, warmed by a fire, you can see how cold it is by looking at the trees.
i believe souls have a tendency to wither. It is in their nature. whether it be by shock or time alone. Every souls that cries leave a shallow impression on the world.
The withered old man crept silently over the rocks, the deer completely unaware of his lingering presence.
I could only stand paralyzed in horror as he sank his fangs into the animal, tearing viciously through its abdomen in an explosion of blood and entrails.
my pride withered at the mere of what could have been. i stood boldly thinking that what was was all there could be. i was wrong, yet again. what could be was more than I could handle. a withered pride was the very least of it.
so earlier today i was walking back to my room and i saw a bush of flowers but all of them were withered except for one flower. and it was pink. and i was gonna take a picture of it but it was too cold to take out my phone.
I don’t really want to write about what is withered
I have been spending the past two months
only writing about the parts of me that have grown again
only writing about the parts of me that are strong
I am a lily, I am a crocodile, I am a river, I am a mountain
but you are a stone and you will still go last
Everything that life throws at me is causing me to break down more each and everyday. It is like I can never handle things anymore it’s just too much. What can you do to stop this pain, this torture, that is called emotions, it hurts. Really bad.
Tired and lonely, she was withered in the cold dark room. The constant wind had hit her so hard over the past few hours that nothing was left but her frail bones. The young girl couldn’t even bring herself to stand through another second of withering torture.
i withered away as the sun beat down on my face, it was a cool autm day as i walked through the park thinking about what once was wile the the cool autumn air brushed across my body i looked to the sky to enjoy the sight of life
The crops on farmville if you don’t take care of them. I used to have a farmville… back in the days. Sorta don’t have anything else to ad cuz i underestimated the amount of time 60 sec is… awkward.
And I saw the poor little bug dried up and done for on the sidewalk in this hot July. Seeing it made me realize how fragile we Earth creatures are. It was a dismal sight.
It was then that I knew our love had faded away.
She walked back into the kitchen, eyes bloodshot, snot running down her nose.
Her face blotchy. She never looks as beautiful as she does when tears are in her eyes.
Our relationship was so destructive.
That’s probably why. I loved to see her cry so purely.
I use to let myself believe that wasn’t the reason I pushed her away, but now I know that I’m a big fat liar.
We loved being destroyed by each other, we lived for it.
And then it became too much as we grew older and started to realize that the relationship we’d based solely on our childish dreams was beginning to wither away and dissolve into the wind.
The rose that was in my hand had withered away. I bought it for her…but it didn’t last that long. It only lasted a few hours…it could’ve lasted longer, had I watered it right. But I never did have a green thumb. Not like her. I hope our relationship lasts longer than this rose.
I withered away in her heart. It wasnt the same anymore, we both knew it. The warm feeling from the sun was quickly fading away, and what was left was only memories that he would treasure for the rest of his life, and she would never know.
I am a withered flower. I used to be alive, but I’ve died and now I’m starting to decay. I can’t do this anymore. I feel like I’m crumbling apart. I feel like I’m growing smaller and smaller every day. If I don’t do something quickly and change my life, I’ll be as good as a withered rose; dead and empty.
It withered and withered and withered away. The sun did just go down that day, but was slowly covered by clouds from all directions. Enveloping it, enclosing it, snuffing it out. And it sank down into the night covered in warm pink clouds.
the leaves on the tree were withered. it was the withered of a sad winter, which she found strange, since winter had always seemed so chilly and wondrous to her.
but she walked down the same street she had been down countless times before, in countless winters, and saw that tree
it was withered
and it made her sad.
Twisting and climbing, yet broken and withered, the soul of a man and the limbs of the tree. I will not fall for I know I’m am dying and the tree will still stand for it now trusts in me.
No matter how she longed for the home she left, the home that was burned she looked forward. The only thing left for her was revenge. She grabbed the old man’s withered neck and whispered “where is he? Where is the man who killed my father?” She saw the light leaves his eyes and she felt nothing but rage.
The tree was withered and the season was winter. Children used to play among the tree and climb on its branches. But the children were grown and they had no time for childish things. The withered tree grew sad and the leaves began to fall off. The tree felt alone and no longer brought happiness to those around her.
As she stood and looked on, she saw the flower wither at her feet. She was used to seeing living things withered around her. For she was life and death, all in one body. With every step she took she brought forth a bunch of flower and life but when her feet left the ground the only thing left was withered plants.
Her eyes, which were as bright as her soul, have seen amazing sights you could never imagine. As time went by she left a little bit of her soul everywhere she went. Leaving her eyes with a withered look. By her sad end they were left colorless and she was blind. Yet it never phased her because she saw more than you and I.
Raisins.
Just pathetic, dried up grapes. And they sit there in their little bowl with absolutely no purpose. Absolutely no purpose or worth.
“Hello”
I said it to myself because no one was home.
Everything inside me realized that I was crying for anyone but myself.
Sad.
Like a raisin I just sat there and waited.
“anyone?”
empty house.
Everything withered inside of me while the sound of keys on the table didn’t resonate. I sat on the stairs and cried for anything but myself.
She was withered and tired. She couldn’t keep going on and wanted nothing more than stop and sleep. She was tired of this war and this fighting. She wanted to go back home, but she was never sure if she could go home. She wandered around the camp before settling down next to a tree.
leaves they die. everyday they just wither. they don’t have a choice. it’s nature. and it’s beautiful.
It’s a dangerous thing for one’s resolve to become withered and die. Especially when you’re battling clinical depression without meds, without a shrink. But that’s only for those who are looking at the world of neurotransmitters and self-concept. I can see what the rest of you can’t, something deeper and older and much more powerful than your serotonin supplements. Don’t think I don’t see the bounty on my head. I’ll die before I deny. So shoot your fiery darts, stick me with your daggers of despair, you will never blind me to the light at the end of this tunnel.
he lay there, withered. “i don’t know what to say” he breathed slightly ashamed. he couldn’t get it up and it wasn’t the first time it had happened either. maybe, he had spent to much money on hookers. that had to be the cause. the hookers, the money, and the no real life connection. he missed what it felt like to be loved. no wonder he was withered, his life was withering away every moment he spent in a hotel.
Withered. This was the word that came to mind when she looked in the mirror for the first time in two years. The last time she saw her own reflection she cried and broke every reflective glass at her eye level. Now at a second glance she notices delicate skin around her own fiery blue eyes, the blood beneath her skin pumping fresh color to her cheeks and her lips smiled like thirty years never passed.
her soul withered as she continued to oppress herself in the manacles of the drones living side by side in the world of lies. she questioned many things and spoke openly with others about her opinions, many of them under the spell of society agreed but did not , listen, LISTEN, hear her. They only heard the normalcy, the rise and fall of what they were told by THEM, whoever they are. She dreamed of a world free from confined thought, and instead full of extended love and communication, the exchange of ideas and people helping people, a world where the only currency was learning and mastery and the elders had the respect of past. Only one world did this exist in now…her mind. and others like her. wherever they may be. A few times a year she will meet one or two, each on their own path of enlightenment.
withered is the way a flower feels after its girlfriend doesn’t call.
the child withered in his clothes when he looked up to see his mother kissing a man that wasn’t Daddy.
“Withered and brittle.” She used these words to describe the trees around here in the dead of winter. There wasn’t any snow but if you looked outside from your living room window, warmed by a fire, you can see how cold it is by looking at the trees.
A tree, born for winter, living in the wrong season. Living in a world it wasn’t meant for. It’s delicate and broken.
i believe souls have a tendency to wither. It is in their nature. whether it be by shock or time alone. Every souls that cries leave a shallow impression on the world.
The withered old man crept silently over the rocks, the deer completely unaware of his lingering presence.
I could only stand paralyzed in horror as he sank his fangs into the animal, tearing viciously through its abdomen in an explosion of blood and entrails.
my pride withered at the mere of what could have been. i stood boldly thinking that what was was all there could be. i was wrong, yet again. what could be was more than I could handle. a withered pride was the very least of it.
She paused, licked her flaking, withered lips, then continued. “I can tell you a way to stop the side-effects. For a price.”
so earlier today i was walking back to my room and i saw a bush of flowers but all of them were withered except for one flower. and it was pink. and i was gonna take a picture of it but it was too cold to take out my phone.
meanings old, dying, hopeless, sadness, aging, in a dark place,
I don’t really want to write about what is withered
I have been spending the past two months
only writing about the parts of me that have grown again
only writing about the parts of me that are strong
I am a lily, I am a crocodile, I am a river, I am a mountain
but you are a stone and you will still go last
Everything that life throws at me is causing me to break down more each and everyday. It is like I can never handle things anymore it’s just too much. What can you do to stop this pain, this torture, that is called emotions, it hurts. Really bad.
Tired and lonely, she was withered in the cold dark room. The constant wind had hit her so hard over the past few hours that nothing was left but her frail bones. The young girl couldn’t even bring herself to stand through another second of withering torture.
i withered away as the sun beat down on my face, it was a cool autm day as i walked through the park thinking about what once was wile the the cool autumn air brushed across my body i looked to the sky to enjoy the sight of life
The crops on farmville if you don’t take care of them. I used to have a farmville… back in the days. Sorta don’t have anything else to ad cuz i underestimated the amount of time 60 sec is… awkward.
Withered branches on an old tree. Forever or just for this winter?
A word I knew in Chinese, but need to brush up on.
Everything leads to brainless panic in my mind.
I wonder what it would be like to be normal?
A lot more boring I would think.
I’m as normal as I’m going to get.
Judging by this stepping stone of thoughts, that’s not very, .
And I saw the poor little bug dried up and done for on the sidewalk in this hot July. Seeing it made me realize how fragile we Earth creatures are. It was a dismal sight.
It was then that I knew our love had faded away.
She walked back into the kitchen, eyes bloodshot, snot running down her nose.
Her face blotchy. She never looks as beautiful as she does when tears are in her eyes.
Our relationship was so destructive.
That’s probably why. I loved to see her cry so purely.
I use to let myself believe that wasn’t the reason I pushed her away, but now I know that I’m a big fat liar.
We loved being destroyed by each other, we lived for it.
And then it became too much as we grew older and started to realize that the relationship we’d based solely on our childish dreams was beginning to wither away and dissolve into the wind.
The rose that was in my hand had withered away. I bought it for her…but it didn’t last that long. It only lasted a few hours…it could’ve lasted longer, had I watered it right. But I never did have a green thumb. Not like her. I hope our relationship lasts longer than this rose.
“withered” makes me feel lonely. i wish i could find something that would last forever. it makes me oddly scared for the future
I withered away in her heart. It wasnt the same anymore, we both knew it. The warm feeling from the sun was quickly fading away, and what was left was only memories that he would treasure for the rest of his life, and she would never know.
I am a withered flower. I used to be alive, but I’ve died and now I’m starting to decay. I can’t do this anymore. I feel like I’m crumbling apart. I feel like I’m growing smaller and smaller every day. If I don’t do something quickly and change my life, I’ll be as good as a withered rose; dead and empty.
It withered and withered and withered away. The sun did just go down that day, but was slowly covered by clouds from all directions. Enveloping it, enclosing it, snuffing it out. And it sank down into the night covered in warm pink clouds.
She had a withered off arm from the chemical burns. She remembered it so brightly: Alex with a water bottle in hand, one big throw and —
Explode!
the leaves on the tree were withered. it was the withered of a sad winter, which she found strange, since winter had always seemed so chilly and wondrous to her.
but she walked down the same street she had been down countless times before, in countless winters, and saw that tree
it was withered
and it made her sad.
The withered is alive. The withered breathing. Air.
Twisting and climbing, yet broken and withered, the soul of a man and the limbs of the tree. I will not fall for I know I’m am dying and the tree will still stand for it now trusts in me.
Plants die. Flowers wilt. Ideas wither. Like a hot dessert in the middle of summer.
No matter how she longed for the home she left, the home that was burned she looked forward. The only thing left for her was revenge. She grabbed the old man’s withered neck and whispered “where is he? Where is the man who killed my father?” She saw the light leaves his eyes and she felt nothing but rage.
The tree was withered and the season was winter. Children used to play among the tree and climb on its branches. But the children were grown and they had no time for childish things. The withered tree grew sad and the leaves began to fall off. The tree felt alone and no longer brought happiness to those around her.
As she stood and looked on, she saw the flower wither at her feet. She was used to seeing living things withered around her. For she was life and death, all in one body. With every step she took she brought forth a bunch of flower and life but when her feet left the ground the only thing left was withered plants.
Her eyes, which were as bright as her soul, have seen amazing sights you could never imagine. As time went by she left a little bit of her soul everywhere she went. Leaving her eyes with a withered look. By her sad end they were left colorless and she was blind. Yet it never phased her because she saw more than you and I.
Raisins.
Just pathetic, dried up grapes. And they sit there in their little bowl with absolutely no purpose. Absolutely no purpose or worth.
“Hello”
I said it to myself because no one was home.
Everything inside me realized that I was crying for anyone but myself.
Sad.
Like a raisin I just sat there and waited.
“anyone?”
empty house.
Everything withered inside of me while the sound of keys on the table didn’t resonate. I sat on the stairs and cried for anything but myself.
The old vine love growth had not yet withered, despite the arid climate of affection. The hope watered her garden and kept the fruit coming forth.