I don’t like it when the kitchen is too clean; it makes me suspicious. I like to know what my flatmate has been cooking. She bakes a lot of things, but mostly banana bread with yellow food colouring to make it extra yellow but she doesn’t tell anyone that she’s used food colouring. she’s won bake off twice because of that little trick.
I stepped into the spray of the shower water and closed my eyes as the warmth enveloped me. The water cascaded down my skin and washed away the stress of the day, spiraling down the drain and disappearing. I hummed softly and a smile came to my face. I finally felt at peace.
The room had a sickening crisp clean smell to it. the kind of smell you can only gain by cleaning products and presumably suspicious activity. The smell wasn’t the only clean thing, everything looked pristine and perfect. Something was wrong.
She changed her bed sheet countless times to get rid of the feeling inside her chest; she wiped away the invisible dust on top of all surfaces on her apartment as if that would clean the stain on her body away; she vacuumed the floor and mopped it again and again as if that would make her shine like a jewel again.
But even when her apartment was shining bright, there was still filth lingering in it– the filth of the stain she had brought with her since she went back from the cursed party she attended a few nights ago. It had happened so quickly and randomly; it was mindblowing to think that someone that she called her “bestfriend” would do such a thing to her.
And as she stood in her living room, the memories of the party swarmed inside her mind, drowning her in the sea of sickness in which she felt the cursed fingers all over her body again –groping, touching, pinching– and she called for help with her lungs filled with cries, but nobody came. The music was blaring, it was choking her to death. And the person on top of her was pushing her down, thrusting into her as she tried to move an inch of her body else than her mouth –her arms, her legs, it doesn’t matter, she needed out– but was soon forced to be silenced and binded by his choking touch and bitter lips.
That night, she gained a stain on herself.
And no matter how many showers she took, how many times she cleaned herself, her apartment, her car, her belongings, nothing could wipe the stain away.
For many, the word clean implides hygiene and order. For me, the term clean is a reference to no loose ends and that everything is tight. Clean means something is ready to go and fully operational.
Lots of people are saying 2016 is a clean start, time to wash away all the 2015 that is left in the shrapnel. However, I am made of everything that has already happened to me, and I am going to build.
There had been references, even a background check, and she’d checked out clean. So Erik couldn’t help but shake his head in disbelief at the gun sticking in his face. A strangled question stuck on the gag of electrical tape covering his mouth as her partner tied his hand behind his back. “Stop your whimpering,” barked the woman he’d hired to babysit.
He had ruined me, made me a shell of my former self. Just thinking about him made me want to vomit and get in the shower, scrubbing at my skin until it was red and raw
starch, taken from the womb and sullied for reasons we are never afforded. taken. taken with a wish you don’t have the years to fulfil. see to it my dreams are fulfilled, only this way can a true utopia exist.
coming home from the beach. or the gym. sweat is clean- not public transport sweat or concert sweat. well-earned sweat, at-least-i-tried sweat, a-fuck-you-to-them sweat. 2016 is going to be clean.
First thought was about eating clean. I’ve done this before and I know the results. I think I can apply this to living clean…getting all the junk out of my life…time wasters…fluff…things that might “taste” good in the moment but have no real benefit to my life. Clean sounds refreshing. It also sounds empowering.
This January 1st I’m hoping to purge myself. Empty my insides of the poison of 2015. All the pain, the heartache, the negativity..I want I to go. I want to be better; to be clean.
New day. New start. Clean page. She stared down at it as the wind rustled the trees outside. Okay. New day. New start. Empty page. Or. Maybe… okay. NEW DAY. NEW START.
Nothing.
She leaned back.
This was going to be a long year.
This will be nice and clean. No messy loose ends, no frayed corners, we make a nice neat incision and no one will be any the wiser. Maybe that should be excision. We will cut it out, it will heal and that will be that!
Start off the new year with a clean slate. Take the bad and good of last year, expand upon them, and forge forward anew. Goals set, paths in the process, avenues to explore. Time is yours, and it’s time to seize it.
I can’t help it. I just don’t feel clean without the ritual. It’s necessary for my sanity. Sanity? Sanitation? Cleanliness of the mind. Yes. I need to complete it, or my dirty soul will never be washed clean. Clean.
I never really feel clean enough. my hair is always dirty looking. my eyes are always so droopy. is it the anxiety? my lack of motivation? my general displease for anything and everything? Is my soul clean? Am I clean?
The floor was dirty again. It was my job to clean it, and i wasn’t sure why. What was i doing this for? What reason was there to cleaning this floor again and again, an endless cycle of furious, frantic scrubbing, only to do it again. Was i obsessed?
Once again, the floor was spotless. How many times have i cleaned blood off of the tiles, without any regret- with out any remorse? How many times would i do it once again? When would i stop, when would i tire of cleaning? When… when could i finally rest? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know. It had to end soon. I…
it was a very clean house, spotless floor squeaky clean and shimmering, the soap and water still spread across the tiles and the mop lying against the wall. The vaccum was off in the living room, having done its’ job of cleaning up as well. It was quiet, lonely, but i was clean- and that was all that mattered in the end.
“Dude, there’s no way I’ll be able to clean this room in one day! It’s a disaster!” The boy grumbled as he flopped on his bed with a huff.
“Well maybe you shouldn’t have gotten it so messy in the first place…” His friend said, crossing her arms as she leaned against his doorway.
I like my place to be clean. I am not a clean freak but appreciate cleanliness. Also, i think it is important to maintain cleanliness as it leads to a better life.
clean is a great thing. It keeps things constantly looking nice and clean also means life can be clean and you should always try to keep things clean. Clean means com
Clean is what I want my life to be. A clean house. A clean classroom. Clean relationships. Clean means getting rid of all of the “dirt” of my life. Clean is getting rid of the junk.
The wall was clean. Where graffiti and disparaging racial remarks had been there was now cleanliness. Wholesome fun. The glow of a bright future and a world to be proud of.
“Look, officer,” I told the woman in blue, “my hands are clean. I gave you my alibi. I told you who could vouch for me. Yet I’m still in custody. So I have two questions: Am I going home, or am I going home?”
The woman in blue said nothing. She stood there, frozen, moving her tongue across her upper lip. I suddenly felt a cold bolt of pain.
vacant parking lot in the city, rusted and looted. A man sits on the railing looking over the cement landscape. Each crack tells a story of another year, every stone arrived the same way. Once flat and smooth now decay and maturity. Through the windows of the ajacent highrise. A man cleans a window, simply from top to bottom. The parking lot stares at him, waiting for something.
I hate cleaning because my mom forces me to do it. I would much rather be listening to music or exercising or texting because that’s what I enjoy doing. If I could tell my mom no I would say it whenever she forces me to clean but I don’t want to hurt her feelings. I clean when I’m bored but then I get bored of cleaning and start doing other things. I start to eat and play games and watch YouTube and watch tv and o many other things.
quiet antiseptic morning,
with my words falling like rain.
oxygen is a tired old thing
and the clouds are still,
no wind to stir them.
give me a second,
a minute,
water circling a rusting drain –
i build water clocks
out of my lungs
and charm the weary air
back into them.
I don’t like it when the kitchen is too clean; it makes me suspicious. I like to know what my flatmate has been cooking. She bakes a lot of things, but mostly banana bread with yellow food colouring to make it extra yellow but she doesn’t tell anyone that she’s used food colouring. she’s won bake off twice because of that little trick.
I stepped into the spray of the shower water and closed my eyes as the warmth enveloped me. The water cascaded down my skin and washed away the stress of the day, spiraling down the drain and disappearing. I hummed softly and a smile came to my face. I finally felt at peace.
The room had a sickening crisp clean smell to it. the kind of smell you can only gain by cleaning products and presumably suspicious activity. The smell wasn’t the only clean thing, everything looked pristine and perfect. Something was wrong.
Well, I just had a shower, so I`d like to say I`m clean, which is in my opinion something very important and something that should be taken sirious.
She cleaned her apartment over and over again.
She changed her bed sheet countless times to get rid of the feeling inside her chest; she wiped away the invisible dust on top of all surfaces on her apartment as if that would clean the stain on her body away; she vacuumed the floor and mopped it again and again as if that would make her shine like a jewel again.
But even when her apartment was shining bright, there was still filth lingering in it– the filth of the stain she had brought with her since she went back from the cursed party she attended a few nights ago. It had happened so quickly and randomly; it was mindblowing to think that someone that she called her “bestfriend” would do such a thing to her.
And as she stood in her living room, the memories of the party swarmed inside her mind, drowning her in the sea of sickness in which she felt the cursed fingers all over her body again –groping, touching, pinching– and she called for help with her lungs filled with cries, but nobody came. The music was blaring, it was choking her to death. And the person on top of her was pushing her down, thrusting into her as she tried to move an inch of her body else than her mouth –her arms, her legs, it doesn’t matter, she needed out– but was soon forced to be silenced and binded by his choking touch and bitter lips.
That night, she gained a stain on herself.
And no matter how many showers she took, how many times she cleaned herself, her apartment, her car, her belongings, nothing could wipe the stain away.
For many, the word clean implides hygiene and order. For me, the term clean is a reference to no loose ends and that everything is tight. Clean means something is ready to go and fully operational.
Lots of people are saying 2016 is a clean start, time to wash away all the 2015 that is left in the shrapnel. However, I am made of everything that has already happened to me, and I am going to build.
Clean can mean something deep, but it is also what happens when I wash my hands with soap. It’s good to look at every angle of a word.
pure white
linen
sparkling
shine
clear
strong
mind
heart
pure
joy
love
sparkly
shining
dazzling
There had been references, even a background check, and she’d checked out clean. So Erik couldn’t help but shake his head in disbelief at the gun sticking in his face. A strangled question stuck on the gag of electrical tape covering his mouth as her partner tied his hand behind his back. “Stop your whimpering,” barked the woman he’d hired to babysit.
2016.
New Year.
Clean Start.
For me, its about cleaning the mess 2015 made.
Chaotic
Everywhere.
Blank slate with old marks.
Cleaning and clearing for a new path.
While still remember the mess from the year before.
I felt like I would never be clean again.
He had ruined me, made me a shell of my former self. Just thinking about him made me want to vomit and get in the shower, scrubbing at my skin until it was red and raw
He made me dirty.
starch, taken from the womb and sullied for reasons we are never afforded. taken. taken with a wish you don’t have the years to fulfil. see to it my dreams are fulfilled, only this way can a true utopia exist.
coming home from the beach. or the gym. sweat is clean- not public transport sweat or concert sweat. well-earned sweat, at-least-i-tried sweat, a-fuck-you-to-them sweat. 2016 is going to be clean.
His mind was clean as a white sheet of paper and teeth clean like pearl beads.
First thought was about eating clean. I’ve done this before and I know the results. I think I can apply this to living clean…getting all the junk out of my life…time wasters…fluff…things that might “taste” good in the moment but have no real benefit to my life. Clean sounds refreshing. It also sounds empowering.
This January 1st I’m hoping to purge myself. Empty my insides of the poison of 2015. All the pain, the heartache, the negativity..I want I to go. I want to be better; to be clean.
New day. New start. Clean page. She stared down at it as the wind rustled the trees outside. Okay. New day. New start. Empty page. Or. Maybe… okay. NEW DAY. NEW START.
Nothing.
She leaned back.
This was going to be a long year.
This will be nice and clean. No messy loose ends, no frayed corners, we make a nice neat incision and no one will be any the wiser. Maybe that should be excision. We will cut it out, it will heal and that will be that!
That’s how she liked it done. No bodies, no stories of murder or rumours of conspiracy – everything just washed clean like nothing had ever happened.
Start off the new year with a clean slate. Take the bad and good of last year, expand upon them, and forge forward anew. Goals set, paths in the process, avenues to explore. Time is yours, and it’s time to seize it.
I should tidy up my room so that everything is nice and clean.
No clothes on thr floor, nothing.
It feels nice in a fresh and clen atmosphere.
I can’t help it. I just don’t feel clean without the ritual. It’s necessary for my sanity. Sanity? Sanitation? Cleanliness of the mind. Yes. I need to complete it, or my dirty soul will never be washed clean. Clean.
Not me..don’t know how to be..though a part of my religion..soul should be clean and pure
I’m a clean freak! House, car, prooertt, person, life. I think this word fits me.
I never really feel clean enough. my hair is always dirty looking. my eyes are always so droopy. is it the anxiety? my lack of motivation? my general displease for anything and everything? Is my soul clean? Am I clean?
The floor was dirty again. It was my job to clean it, and i wasn’t sure why. What was i doing this for? What reason was there to cleaning this floor again and again, an endless cycle of furious, frantic scrubbing, only to do it again. Was i obsessed?
Once again, the floor was spotless. How many times have i cleaned blood off of the tiles, without any regret- with out any remorse? How many times would i do it once again? When would i stop, when would i tire of cleaning? When… when could i finally rest? I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know. It had to end soon. I…
it was a very clean house, spotless floor squeaky clean and shimmering, the soap and water still spread across the tiles and the mop lying against the wall. The vaccum was off in the living room, having done its’ job of cleaning up as well. It was quiet, lonely, but i was clean- and that was all that mattered in the end.
My house, my mind, old habits. Start anew be conscious of my life and surrounfdings and people I associate wit
“Dude, there’s no way I’ll be able to clean this room in one day! It’s a disaster!” The boy grumbled as he flopped on his bed with a huff.
“Well maybe you shouldn’t have gotten it so messy in the first place…” His friend said, crossing her arms as she leaned against his doorway.
I like my place to be clean. I am not a clean freak but appreciate cleanliness. Also, i think it is important to maintain cleanliness as it leads to a better life.
Just let me be clean again.
Let the scars be gone.
Wash away the blood, the stains
Clear the sheets
Open the windows
Let me breathe
I can’t
Let the memories wash away
With the soap, down the drain
Let my body be mine once more
Just let me be clean again.
clean is a great thing. It keeps things constantly looking nice and clean also means life can be clean and you should always try to keep things clean. Clean means com
Clean is what I want my life to be. A clean house. A clean classroom. Clean relationships. Clean means getting rid of all of the “dirt” of my life. Clean is getting rid of the junk.
The wall was clean. Where graffiti and disparaging racial remarks had been there was now cleanliness. Wholesome fun. The glow of a bright future and a world to be proud of.
“Look, officer,” I told the woman in blue, “my hands are clean. I gave you my alibi. I told you who could vouch for me. Yet I’m still in custody. So I have two questions: Am I going home, or am I going home?”
The woman in blue said nothing. She stood there, frozen, moving her tongue across her upper lip. I suddenly felt a cold bolt of pain.
vacant parking lot in the city, rusted and looted. A man sits on the railing looking over the cement landscape. Each crack tells a story of another year, every stone arrived the same way. Once flat and smooth now decay and maturity. Through the windows of the ajacent highrise. A man cleans a window, simply from top to bottom. The parking lot stares at him, waiting for something.
I hate cleaning because my mom forces me to do it. I would much rather be listening to music or exercising or texting because that’s what I enjoy doing. If I could tell my mom no I would say it whenever she forces me to clean but I don’t want to hurt her feelings. I clean when I’m bored but then I get bored of cleaning and start doing other things. I start to eat and play games and watch YouTube and watch tv and o many other things.
quiet antiseptic morning,
with my words falling like rain.
oxygen is a tired old thing
and the clouds are still,
no wind to stir them.
give me a second,
a minute,
water circling a rusting drain –
i build water clocks
out of my lungs
and charm the weary air
back into them.