Deadbolt is an x-man. He was pretty hot in the movie and had great differences prior to his tranformation. He became someone without a mouth because of the fact that he was a smartass and wouldn’t shut up ever. With this being said, he was still pretty hilarious. and at the end of wolverine he came to be a badass and was one of the best x men ever.
It seems like such a scary word. Deadbolt. You deadbolt the door. You deadbolt the lock on the safe. You deadbolt your heart from feeling what it means to be human. You deadbolt your mouth to not say things you’ll regret.
The deadbolt is black and rusted. I have the key to open it. The key is my mind. The door is your mind. The deadbolt is your fear. I have the key to open your mind. Let me show you how to open your mind.
My feet picking up pace, heart beating so loud but so quiet under the shouts of anger; I glance back behind me and then curse myself for looking back.
“Hey! Hart, stop running! Stop!”, a potbellied policeman is heaving and panting as he runs on his dachshund-sized legs through the weaving crowd in the street towards me.
I look down and see the exit that I’ve been running towards to, and I slide down into the hole that is invisible to everyone but not to me; I grab the huge deadbolt and push it in place, then hold my chest as if my heart is ready to carve itself out and escape. I’m free, at last.
i don’t really know what deadbolt means. and i feel kind of dumb because it seems like it should have a simple definition and i’ll probably know what it means once i look it up. this is my lamest post because i’m in a huge “i don’t give a fuck” mood…and that’s probably reflected in my work here….haha….
The door slammed shut. She locked the deadbolt as soon as she’d shut the door. Her breathing was hard and sweat was forming on her brow. She could hear them growling outside. She cou
what the heck is a deadbolt? Maybe I’m just a tiny but stupid but I have no idea what that is–it sounds like something mechanical or maybe a mean name for a retarded puppy. Makes me think of some sort of Igor or Frankenstein creature.
a lock, im locked in, i have one… on my door.. the back door. it goes up stairs to the roof. ive pondered, the importance of a roof. i feel as though they could be a danger. if you are a danger, are you a danger? am i? oh my. my..
My heart closed with a resounding thud, the deadbolt slid across the lock with a click of finality. There would be no more pain, no more suffering. Why love when you only get hurt, when your heart gets scarred and marred and destroyed. Love isn’t worth it, if you only get hurt in the end.
I lock the door behind me, breathless with anxiety and the need to be alone. The atmosphere on the outside is full of judgement, doubt, and disappointment. I try my best to escape it but it’s still there, it just seeps under my locked door and dances through the room, demanding my attention.
back against the gray moist wall
struggling against cool steel
screaming in a soundproof room
crying tears in the darkness
no doors no windows
in this mystical prison
deadbolt on my mind
the end i envision
locks, of course. barriers. do we need to lock the door? i don’t like them personally. although when I’m alone in the house i confess to sometimes locking the deadbolt. why do we need them?
deadbolt. keeping me from getting to where i need to go and who id like to be. 82.5 lb weight on my shoulders. everyone i grew up with trying to slow me down, clawing grabbing and scratching at everything they can get ahold of. but above all, allowing myself to work at my potential
put a deadbolt in my stomach, my heart, wherever it’s supposed to go poetically to sound like I’m heavy, I’m just worn-down, I can’t open and I can’t close very well either
Sometimes when you’re scared of rapists and ghosts, you have to purchase a deadbolt for your door. Especially if you have an ex who also is a hybrid of a ghost and a rapist. That is one deadly fucking combination. So, buy one from Home Depot to protect yourself, good people. Because the ex-ghost-rapist will get you GET. YOU. If you don’t.
deadbolt. thrice album. probably something from the hardware store. there’s something about a hardware store, those high ceilings…maybe a cool setting for a movie. deadbolt to me = paperweight.
Lights are shut. Doors are locked and the room feels air-tight. Nowhere to go, nowhere to turn or look. Life is tough but sometimes you just have to standstill and wait for your turn until if feels right. Stillness can be enlightening
I watched the door quiver as he persistantly pounded on it. My eyes fluttered back and forth from the trembling door to the tightly locked exit on the other side of the room. But, just as quickly as my opportunity came, it scurried away. The deadbolt of the door fell out and it gave off a shrill echo as it hit the concrete floor. My heart stopped; the sound of my breath fell silent. The door slowly creeked open.
Then, it exploded completely ajar with a loud bang.
And I ran.
Deadbolt? Lock your doors? I’m coming up nothing. I guess I use a deadbolt on my life sometimes. I shut away some feelings and lock them up with a deadbolt, keeping them away from everyone, but myself.
“Deadbolt. We’re trapped.” said Vivian. “Trapped? How?” “Well… obviously she didn’t want us leaving” Then the syrins went off and we went running. We jumped on the gate, hoping we can climb over without being caught.
what thte hell is a deadbolt. it’s like a not living thunderbolt. as in like…um… it kills zombies. And then it’s like tasered. What? buzz. get it? buzz?! bee? itch. But it doesn’t work like that for me. you know? you don’t know? well if you don’t know, now you know. no? yes. it lagged! it stopped on me! what the hell! i’m racing against the source code. that’s a bad name. no programmer would call it that. holler. caller. call her. back. young’un.beep.
Locked. Tightly shut. That’s what a deadbolt can do. It can trap you in the most unforgivable place. With no escape. Never getting out. Thats claustrophobia waiting to happen…
I locked it closed, breathing heavily and leaning against the thick wooden door. But I knew I didn’t have much time. Frantically I raced down the hallway, dreading the noise of the door splitting open. I tried to listen for it over the sound of my footsteps so I would know how much time I had. Not enough.
I heard the whispering outside my back door. I hesitated to turn on the porch light because I wasn’t sure who it could be. When I realized that everyone I loved and trusted was in the house, I reached out to turn the deadbolt, but it was too late, the door was already being pushed open.
Oops. That’s all I could think. As I was running away from the door I forgot in my haste. The deadbolt. I left it unlocked. “STUPID STUPID STUPID!!” I yelled as I pounded the door with my fists. One last look at it, and I was out. The pursuer had gotten me.
A lightning storm that has brought me pain. I had no idea. It was a quiet day and then the storm came. Along with the storm came the tragedy. My father. What happened? The lightning fried him. Like an egg.
The deadbolt keeps people out. It protects me. They’re dangerous. Don’t let them in. Don’t let me out. Me. Out. Them. In. Don’t. Keep us separate. Do your job. And keep us separate. The bolt is dead because it keeps me from being dead. Right?
She slid the deadbolt into place, locking up the store for the night. All was quiet and dark as she walked down the back alley towards her car. Fumbling for her keys, she didn’t see the shadow creeping up behind her. It was the end of her life as she knew it.
He ran for the door, but his sprained ankle floored him before he got there, sending him sprawling onto the gory concrete floor. She stepped over him lightly, walked to the door, and slid the deadbolt in place, before turning back to where he lay shaking. “Now let’s try that again,” she said coyly, picking up her sheath of knives and pursing her little pink lips.
My mother changed the deadbolt lock so that my father couldn’t come in. I guess she’d been brought up to expect the losing party in a divorce settlement to burglarize the home he’d just lost.
Why is it dead? How did it die? If it isn’t dead then why call it a dead bolt? How bout a “a nonliving lock”? How does that sound? Because that’s all it really is.
As the door’s deadbolt creaked, there was an infinite amount of energy released by her. As she walked cautiously, she didn’t not know what to expect. She was frightened, and could barely bring it about herself to check behind the door which lay only a few feet away. Would she die? Is it possible there was foreshadowing, only she overlooked the most minuscule of details? Only if she brought it about herself to open the door with the deadbolt would she discover this.
He was a bit slow. An endearing sort of fellow, greying hair and plainly dedicated to making model medieval cities. She was drawn to his directness, no words were spared; there was an attractive tightness about him despite his intellectual shortcomings. This was no pretty convenience.
Deadbolt is an x-man. He was pretty hot in the movie and had great differences prior to his tranformation. He became someone without a mouth because of the fact that he was a smartass and wouldn’t shut up ever. With this being said, he was still pretty hilarious. and at the end of wolverine he came to be a badass and was one of the best x men ever.
It seems like such a scary word. Deadbolt. You deadbolt the door. You deadbolt the lock on the safe. You deadbolt your heart from feeling what it means to be human. You deadbolt your mouth to not say things you’ll regret.
The deadbolt is black and rusted. I have the key to open it. The key is my mind. The door is your mind. The deadbolt is your fear. I have the key to open your mind. Let me show you how to open your mind.
My feet picking up pace, heart beating so loud but so quiet under the shouts of anger; I glance back behind me and then curse myself for looking back.
“Hey! Hart, stop running! Stop!”, a potbellied policeman is heaving and panting as he runs on his dachshund-sized legs through the weaving crowd in the street towards me.
I look down and see the exit that I’ve been running towards to, and I slide down into the hole that is invisible to everyone but not to me; I grab the huge deadbolt and push it in place, then hold my chest as if my heart is ready to carve itself out and escape. I’m free, at last.
i don’t really know what deadbolt means. and i feel kind of dumb because it seems like it should have a simple definition and i’ll probably know what it means once i look it up. this is my lamest post because i’m in a huge “i don’t give a fuck” mood…and that’s probably reflected in my work here….haha….
death by lightining in the middle of a stormy feild doing something you shouldnt be but made your life worth while.
The door slammed shut. She locked the deadbolt as soon as she’d shut the door. Her breathing was hard and sweat was forming on her brow. She could hear them growling outside. She cou
what the heck is a deadbolt? Maybe I’m just a tiny but stupid but I have no idea what that is–it sounds like something mechanical or maybe a mean name for a retarded puppy. Makes me think of some sort of Igor or Frankenstein creature.
a lock, im locked in, i have one… on my door.. the back door. it goes up stairs to the roof. ive pondered, the importance of a roof. i feel as though they could be a danger. if you are a danger, are you a danger? am i? oh my. my..
My heart closed with a resounding thud, the deadbolt slid across the lock with a click of finality. There would be no more pain, no more suffering. Why love when you only get hurt, when your heart gets scarred and marred and destroyed. Love isn’t worth it, if you only get hurt in the end.
I lock the door behind me, breathless with anxiety and the need to be alone. The atmosphere on the outside is full of judgement, doubt, and disappointment. I try my best to escape it but it’s still there, it just seeps under my locked door and dances through the room, demanding my attention.
back against the gray moist wall
struggling against cool steel
screaming in a soundproof room
crying tears in the darkness
no doors no windows
in this mystical prison
deadbolt on my mind
the end i envision
lock the door, quick! don’t let them in, lock em all out as fast as i can. don’t let them in, don’t let them see. Lock that deadbolt and let me be!
locks, of course. barriers. do we need to lock the door? i don’t like them personally. although when I’m alone in the house i confess to sometimes locking the deadbolt. why do we need them?
deadbolt. keeping me from getting to where i need to go and who id like to be. 82.5 lb weight on my shoulders. everyone i grew up with trying to slow me down, clawing grabbing and scratching at everything they can get ahold of. but above all, allowing myself to work at my potential
put a deadbolt in my stomach, my heart, wherever it’s supposed to go poetically to sound like I’m heavy, I’m just worn-down, I can’t open and I can’t close very well either
He broke her heart and now she has it deadbolted against love.
I think when you use a deatbolt on yout heart, maybe you can be happyer…
Sometimes when you’re scared of rapists and ghosts, you have to purchase a deadbolt for your door. Especially if you have an ex who also is a hybrid of a ghost and a rapist. That is one deadly fucking combination. So, buy one from Home Depot to protect yourself, good people. Because the ex-ghost-rapist will get you GET. YOU. If you don’t.
deadbolt. thrice album. probably something from the hardware store. there’s something about a hardware store, those high ceilings…maybe a cool setting for a movie. deadbolt to me = paperweight.
Lights are shut. Doors are locked and the room feels air-tight. Nowhere to go, nowhere to turn or look. Life is tough but sometimes you just have to standstill and wait for your turn until if feels right. Stillness can be enlightening
The lock on the door. Now there seems to be some kind of intruder. I’m getting my shotgun.
I watched the door quiver as he persistantly pounded on it. My eyes fluttered back and forth from the trembling door to the tightly locked exit on the other side of the room. But, just as quickly as my opportunity came, it scurried away. The deadbolt of the door fell out and it gave off a shrill echo as it hit the concrete floor. My heart stopped; the sound of my breath fell silent. The door slowly creeked open.
Then, it exploded completely ajar with a loud bang.
And I ran.
Deadbolt? Lock your doors? I’m coming up nothing. I guess I use a deadbolt on my life sometimes. I shut away some feelings and lock them up with a deadbolt, keeping them away from everyone, but myself.
“Deadbolt. We’re trapped.” said Vivian. “Trapped? How?” “Well… obviously she didn’t want us leaving” Then the syrins went off and we went running. We jumped on the gate, hoping we can climb over without being caught.
what thte hell is a deadbolt. it’s like a not living thunderbolt. as in like…um… it kills zombies. And then it’s like tasered. What? buzz. get it? buzz?! bee? itch. But it doesn’t work like that for me. you know? you don’t know? well if you don’t know, now you know. no? yes. it lagged! it stopped on me! what the hell! i’m racing against the source code. that’s a bad name. no programmer would call it that. holler. caller. call her. back. young’un.beep.
Locked. Tightly shut. That’s what a deadbolt can do. It can trap you in the most unforgivable place. With no escape. Never getting out. Thats claustrophobia waiting to happen…
I locked it closed, breathing heavily and leaning against the thick wooden door. But I knew I didn’t have much time. Frantically I raced down the hallway, dreading the noise of the door splitting open. I tried to listen for it over the sound of my footsteps so I would know how much time I had. Not enough.
she was reaching her chubby fingers under the oven look what she found! suck suck suck!
I heard the whispering outside my back door. I hesitated to turn on the porch light because I wasn’t sure who it could be. When I realized that everyone I loved and trusted was in the house, I reached out to turn the deadbolt, but it was too late, the door was already being pushed open.
Oops. That’s all I could think. As I was running away from the door I forgot in my haste. The deadbolt. I left it unlocked. “STUPID STUPID STUPID!!” I yelled as I pounded the door with my fists. One last look at it, and I was out. The pursuer had gotten me.
A lightning storm that has brought me pain. I had no idea. It was a quiet day and then the storm came. Along with the storm came the tragedy. My father. What happened? The lightning fried him. Like an egg.
stick a dead bolt thorough my fucking neck. perhaps it can help me breathe. I’ve already been brain dead too long, it’s time to wake up.
The deadbolt keeps people out. It protects me. They’re dangerous. Don’t let them in. Don’t let me out. Me. Out. Them. In. Don’t. Keep us separate. Do your job. And keep us separate. The bolt is dead because it keeps me from being dead. Right?
She slid the deadbolt into place, locking up the store for the night. All was quiet and dark as she walked down the back alley towards her car. Fumbling for her keys, she didn’t see the shadow creeping up behind her. It was the end of her life as she knew it.
He ran for the door, but his sprained ankle floored him before he got there, sending him sprawling onto the gory concrete floor. She stepped over him lightly, walked to the door, and slid the deadbolt in place, before turning back to where he lay shaking. “Now let’s try that again,” she said coyly, picking up her sheath of knives and pursing her little pink lips.
My mother changed the deadbolt lock so that my father couldn’t come in. I guess she’d been brought up to expect the losing party in a divorce settlement to burglarize the home he’d just lost.
Why is it dead? How did it die? If it isn’t dead then why call it a dead bolt? How bout a “a nonliving lock”? How does that sound? Because that’s all it really is.
As the door’s deadbolt creaked, there was an infinite amount of energy released by her. As she walked cautiously, she didn’t not know what to expect. She was frightened, and could barely bring it about herself to check behind the door which lay only a few feet away. Would she die? Is it possible there was foreshadowing, only she overlooked the most minuscule of details? Only if she brought it about herself to open the door with the deadbolt would she discover this.
He was a bit slow. An endearing sort of fellow, greying hair and plainly dedicated to making model medieval cities. She was drawn to his directness, no words were spared; there was an attractive tightness about him despite his intellectual shortcomings. This was no pretty convenience.