A person knocked on the door. I shivered. I hoped it wasn’t him. He said he was coming for me. I didn’t believe it at first, but could it be him. I was wondering about this. What happens if it is my mother or father? I crossed my fingers and gathered up my courage. I slowly opened the door and gasped.
There was a knock on the door. My heart stopped. Now was not the time, it shouldn’t be happening yet. I reached out for the knob and hesitated. My breathing quickened and I could feel a weight in my chest, constricting my lungs and hurting me.
“Knock” the window sounded when that second car accident happened and it hit my head, nothing broke on the window, nor did it on my head. I feel as though all the sense knocked out of my head in the first suddenly got knocked back in. Life feels somewhat simplistic now as opposed to what it was, I am happier. Like god said “wake up Katie! wake up! you’re alive! now live damnit! stop with all your worry.” I honestly could not be more thankful for a knock on the head. So I awoke. Fully rested and happy. Calm. Smiled at all who knew me and said “I am back, sorry for all the trouble I have caused.” Moral of the story: don’t try to live life perfectly, just try to live it happily. That’s living.
Running, out of breath. Your legs are beginning to give out on you. All of the blood is rushing through your veins as the leaves crunch beneath your feet. You see the cabin, your final destination—you are safe. Knock…knock…
The forbidden door is locked. I’m knocking, nobody is answering. I have the key. Dare I use it? I put my eye to the keyhole to see if I can catch a glimpse of what is hidden on the inside. All is dark. All is silent. I knock again. The silence is reverberating with the sound of my knocks. I reach for my key.
there was a knocking at my heart. i pretending i wasnt home so they knock kept strolling til it found itself in my head. i answered. it had much to say—most of which was muffled and confusing. i hesitated to reply in fear of thinking the wrong thing. i pretended it had the wrong address. it left.
*Knock KNock*
She put down her computer and walked to the door.She opened it, not even thinking of the consequences of doing that. A man stood at the door and introduced himself.
I would knock myself out at a beach where there are only crazy things hapenning and I would also want a car to go for a deadly accident. That’s all about it. Joking. Afterall, lest knock ourselves out.
The grave read Valentina Teàrlag: Born 23rd February 1923; Died 21st February 1923. People applauded with tears in their eyes. I was up next reading a piece based around ironic variations of a classic knock knock joke.
The door wasn’t yielding to the incessant noise that seeped through it like sparky syrup. Inside the girl sat, looking at that wreched gateway with sheer wrath and contempt. Three times three, the rythm repeated itself as a sort of gnostical spell forged to open one door and one door only. Penny! Penny! Penny!
There are knocks at the door that have people gasping and springing out of their seats to see what exactly is going on. Some knocks bring good news. Some bring bad. Some knocks will get your husband arrested hours after he has finally been released from prison in Paris. These knocks will cause tears and heartbreaks, but also resolutions in the end.
There was a knock at the door, and Edward knew his time was up. He’d had a good run, but now it was time for something new. He slowly stood up from the chair and walked twords the door. Glancing out the window, he noticed a hummingbird across the way. It helped him remember.
there was a loud knock at the door, made of wrought iron and filled with runes from a time long passed. A heavy bolt was heard sliding open, and that’s when i first saw him. a man in Victorian garb, dressed up in all the finest silk, with a revolver at his chest and a signet ring of an eagle on his finger
It isn’t the pain of the hit to the back of the head that you feel. You experience that the ache and blinding fissure across your skull when you wake. Your head feels double in size, and it is akin to being cracked into a concrete wall repeatedly for several hours.
Keep knocking on my door, knock knock, knocking on my door. She keeps knock knock knocking on my door! He keeps knock knock knocking on my door! Dad and mom keeps knock knock knocking on my door! Now the knocking has stop, finally I can get some rest. Knocking is annoying as hell!
when i knock on the door it seems loud. when the kids knock on the door it doesnt. children always seem to knock over things suck as drinks, plates, furntiture, pictures. knock knock who is there don’t knockhim for trying.
Three knocks on the door. Knock on wood. Knocked up. Knock, block. Knock looks like know. As a kid, I always wrote about archers “nocking” arrows (still not sure if that’s right). K is silent. Like in knife.
I built up a glass castle inside my head
Of wishes and dreams, and words never said.
I locked myself in, drowning in my illusions
Until the real world came knocking, and destroyed my delusions.
someones knocking on my door. Its a bad knock. weak. puny. I go to the door. outside is an old man. covered in fancy clothes but underneath is trash. rascism and hatred.
Knock, knock, knock. It wasn’t the knock of anyone I knew. It wasn’t the mailman, it wasn’t the milkman. It wasn’t even my intergalactic space girlfriend. It was a stranger. I hid under the couch, trembling. I couldn’t let anyone in. I was living on my own now, but I took my mother’s words to heart.
“Don’t talk to strangers.”
“Don’t answer the door.”
There was a loud knock at the door. Louise picked up her cane and slowly hobbled to the door, favoring her bad hip. It was the paper boy, collecting just the way he did every second Thursday. “Hello ma’am”. Louise nodded hello, handing the boy the money. He was really the only company she ever had, yet she never made much conversation. She and mittens had much better things to do than converse with school children. She would much rather get back to her needlepoint.
She heard a knock at the door and wondered if it was him. She nervously pulled the door open. Her heart was pounding as she peered onto the dark porch. It was just a delivery. She forgot about the book she had ordered last week.
there is was again….Knock Knock Knock. It seemed to be coming from underneath my bed. I leaned over the side and said “Who is it?” There was some whispering and a deep voice said “Wrong number sorry, go back to sleep.”
Knock on the door of my heart
I may not open for you
Because you knock like everyone else
You say the same things
But if you keep knocking
I may see the difference
If you change your voice
From all the others
I may take a look to see
If you are who you say to be
I knocked on the door, and there was no answer. There never seems to be, but still the anxiety of a potential answer and addressing someone new is always there, no many how times I knock. Its a good thing; optimism.
The opportunity was there, or so he thought. All he had to do was knock, right? He didn’t even know what the hell was behind the door, but he was afraid. What if he ended up hurting himself? Hurting others? Better to leave doors closed, live a comfortable life.
there’s a knock on the door,
but i won’t answer.
your feet are tucked up against the back of my knees,
cold toes pressing into the crease,
and your breath is
hot
against the back of my neck.
there’s another knock,
and another,
but this time is for us.
A person knocked on the door. I shivered. I hoped it wasn’t him. He said he was coming for me. I didn’t believe it at first, but could it be him. I was wondering about this. What happens if it is my mother or father? I crossed my fingers and gathered up my courage. I slowly opened the door and gasped.
There was a knock on the door. My heart stopped. Now was not the time, it shouldn’t be happening yet. I reached out for the knob and hesitated. My breathing quickened and I could feel a weight in my chest, constricting my lungs and hurting me.
Knock knock. Who’s there? I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows. Where did knocking come from, anyway? How did it evolve as a custom?
Knock knock! who’s there. The big bad wolf you dope.
“Knock” the window sounded when that second car accident happened and it hit my head, nothing broke on the window, nor did it on my head. I feel as though all the sense knocked out of my head in the first suddenly got knocked back in. Life feels somewhat simplistic now as opposed to what it was, I am happier. Like god said “wake up Katie! wake up! you’re alive! now live damnit! stop with all your worry.” I honestly could not be more thankful for a knock on the head. So I awoke. Fully rested and happy. Calm. Smiled at all who knew me and said “I am back, sorry for all the trouble I have caused.” Moral of the story: don’t try to live life perfectly, just try to live it happily. That’s living.
Running, out of breath. Your legs are beginning to give out on you. All of the blood is rushing through your veins as the leaves crunch beneath your feet. You see the cabin, your final destination—you are safe. Knock…knock…
The forbidden door is locked. I’m knocking, nobody is answering. I have the key. Dare I use it? I put my eye to the keyhole to see if I can catch a glimpse of what is hidden on the inside. All is dark. All is silent. I knock again. The silence is reverberating with the sound of my knocks. I reach for my key.
there was a knocking at my heart. i pretending i wasnt home so they knock kept strolling til it found itself in my head. i answered. it had much to say—most of which was muffled and confusing. i hesitated to reply in fear of thinking the wrong thing. i pretended it had the wrong address. it left.
*Knock KNock*
She put down her computer and walked to the door.She opened it, not even thinking of the consequences of doing that. A man stood at the door and introduced himself.
I would knock myself out at a beach where there are only crazy things hapenning and I would also want a car to go for a deadly accident. That’s all about it. Joking. Afterall, lest knock ourselves out.
There was knock on the door. She reached out to touch the doorknob and heard another knock behind her.
Was it all in her head?
Maybe not.
The grave read Valentina Teàrlag: Born 23rd February 1923; Died 21st February 1923. People applauded with tears in their eyes. I was up next reading a piece based around ironic variations of a classic knock knock joke.
knock knockin’ on heavens door.
over something.
knock, who’s there?
The door wasn’t yielding to the incessant noise that seeped through it like sparky syrup. Inside the girl sat, looking at that wreched gateway with sheer wrath and contempt. Three times three, the rythm repeated itself as a sort of gnostical spell forged to open one door and one door only. Penny! Penny! Penny!
There are knocks at the door that have people gasping and springing out of their seats to see what exactly is going on. Some knocks bring good news. Some bring bad. Some knocks will get your husband arrested hours after he has finally been released from prison in Paris. These knocks will cause tears and heartbreaks, but also resolutions in the end.
There was a knock at the door, and Edward knew his time was up. He’d had a good run, but now it was time for something new. He slowly stood up from the chair and walked twords the door. Glancing out the window, he noticed a hummingbird across the way. It helped him remember.
That’s funny. I was thinking about knocking on someone’s door tonight. Someone’s door I shouldnt knock. Maybe I should do it. Maybe I should knock.
there was a loud knock at the door, made of wrought iron and filled with runes from a time long passed. A heavy bolt was heard sliding open, and that’s when i first saw him. a man in Victorian garb, dressed up in all the finest silk, with a revolver at his chest and a signet ring of an eagle on his finger
It isn’t the pain of the hit to the back of the head that you feel. You experience that the ache and blinding fissure across your skull when you wake. Your head feels double in size, and it is akin to being cracked into a concrete wall repeatedly for several hours.
Keep knocking on my door, knock knock, knocking on my door. She keeps knock knock knocking on my door! He keeps knock knock knocking on my door! Dad and mom keeps knock knock knocking on my door! Now the knocking has stop, finally I can get some rest. Knocking is annoying as hell!
when i knock on the door it seems loud. when the kids knock on the door it doesnt. children always seem to knock over things suck as drinks, plates, furntiture, pictures. knock knock who is there don’t knockhim for trying.
Three knocks on the door. Knock on wood. Knocked up. Knock, block. Knock looks like know. As a kid, I always wrote about archers “nocking” arrows (still not sure if that’s right). K is silent. Like in knife.
I built up a glass castle inside my head
Of wishes and dreams, and words never said.
I locked myself in, drowning in my illusions
Until the real world came knocking, and destroyed my delusions.
Knock knock, said Bruno. Who’s there, asked Maryam. It’s me, said the door. Actually no, it’s me, said the real knocker. That’s the end o
The knock on the door came in the middle of the night, as expected. Or to be more precise, early in the morning.
It was when they always chose to come, the time when sleep was deep, when a sudden awakening added to the terror and confusion.
They were good at what they did.
someones knocking on my door. Its a bad knock. weak. puny. I go to the door. outside is an old man. covered in fancy clothes but underneath is trash. rascism and hatred.
They’re getting louder. A knell. With each knock my death creeps closer. I hope they find me before the rats do.
knock knock.
Who’s there?
Dad.
Dad who?
The guy that walked out on you and magically came back treating you like the bad guy for not taking me back.
Ba dum tsssss.
knock
knock
bounce off the walls
who’s there?
ringing silence
does nothing to
betray the perpatrator
Knock, knock, knock. It wasn’t the knock of anyone I knew. It wasn’t the mailman, it wasn’t the milkman. It wasn’t even my intergalactic space girlfriend. It was a stranger. I hid under the couch, trembling. I couldn’t let anyone in. I was living on my own now, but I took my mother’s words to heart.
“Don’t talk to strangers.”
“Don’t answer the door.”
There was a loud knock at the door. Louise picked up her cane and slowly hobbled to the door, favoring her bad hip. It was the paper boy, collecting just the way he did every second Thursday. “Hello ma’am”. Louise nodded hello, handing the boy the money. He was really the only company she ever had, yet she never made much conversation. She and mittens had much better things to do than converse with school children. She would much rather get back to her needlepoint.
She heard a knock at the door and wondered if it was him. She nervously pulled the door open. Her heart was pounding as she peered onto the dark porch. It was just a delivery. She forgot about the book she had ordered last week.
there is was again….Knock Knock Knock. It seemed to be coming from underneath my bed. I leaned over the side and said “Who is it?” There was some whispering and a deep voice said “Wrong number sorry, go back to sleep.”
Knock, Knock.
No ones home.
Go away,
I want to be left alone.
In my room, by myself
just leave and don’t come back.
Knock on the door of my heart
I may not open for you
Because you knock like everyone else
You say the same things
But if you keep knocking
I may see the difference
If you change your voice
From all the others
I may take a look to see
If you are who you say to be
I knocked on the door, and there was no answer. There never seems to be, but still the anxiety of a potential answer and addressing someone new is always there, no many how times I knock. Its a good thing; optimism.
knock knock
echoes around the house
empty reverberations
ghosts of a bark
knock knock-
the door smashes in
visitors stepping over the broken shards
shadows of life trail across the floor
floorboards silent witness
At my heart it beats, no, it bangs and pounds; that loss, knocks at my soul and shakes the dream that has been left untouched, intentionally.
The opportunity was there, or so he thought. All he had to do was knock, right? He didn’t even know what the hell was behind the door, but he was afraid. What if he ended up hurting himself? Hurting others? Better to leave doors closed, live a comfortable life.
there’s a knock on the door,
but i won’t answer.
your feet are tucked up against the back of my knees,
cold toes pressing into the crease,
and your breath is
hot
against the back of my neck.
there’s another knock,
and another,
but this time is for us.