i wanted to punch him in the face. to see the reaction when he reached up and touched his cheek, knowing that yes, he had done something wrong. i was sick of being walked all over, taken for granted, and this time would not be like all the others. this time, i would watch him on the other side of that scene.
We lifted out plastic champagne flutes high in the air, clinking them over the sparkly felt table top. “To being a Princess!” we shouted before lowering our glasses and drinking in the sweet punch. Playing poker without alcohol was new — and even more fun with my Alcoholics Anonymous gals.
Sometimes I want to punch you. I loved you and gave you everything that I had. So Cliche yet so real. You love HER now, not me. And I can’t cope. I want to be that Her not have it be she.
He hit across the face, and she smiled for it, giggled at the sound of cartilage and heartstrings snapping, at how much money he would pay later for the surgery to fix it because they were goddamned to hell, and Buchanans always sin the best.
I leaned down and sniffed the reddish concoction in the bowl on the table, looking around first to make sure nobody was watching. It had a pungent aroma, which was interesting but certainly not very pleasant. Shrugging, I decided to ladle some into my glass. After all, having new experiences is what I was here for, right?
I punched the guy in the throat. His unwilling love hatred to my life. I had no longer any love for him. He was unfaithful, unloving. He abused, and was cruel with loving hatred.
So often, I want to punch myself for wasting my time. Wasting my time playing games. Wasting my time at a job I hate. Wasting my time in relationships that aren’t satisfying to me. Wasting my time thinking I need to be around people who are just holding me back. I can live alone. I can be creative again. Just…go.
Ow. Sometimes when I get sad or angry, I feel the need to hit someone. I hope that if I do, they’ll understand I don’t mean it just like I do right after I’ve done it.
it felt like a punch, the fist enveloping around my stomach in a twisted mesh of fat and organ, as if his hand was inside my body, moving, manipulating my insides to his desire. his mental desire. from that moment i listened to every word he ever spoke.
Sometimes, I just want to punch this phone at work. It’s kind of a Pavlovian thing, when it rings. It rings, and I just go into a rage. I think terrible things about the person on the other end, usually their incompetence or idiocy. That’s the life of a tech support person, I suppose. Maybe it’s just a sign that I hate my job and need out.
It really hurts when you punch people in the face. Punch is also juice. I like the tropical punch flavored Kool Aid, but I don’t understand why it’s blue on the packet and red when you make it. It’s weird. I wish Kool Aid was more consistent. My boyfriend punched this kid in the face at Starbucks once.
Punch as punch him in the face
Punch as in fruit punch I would give him after I punched him in the face
Punch like punch in your time card you’re not needed anymore
The punch at the wedding was some of the best that the guests had ever tasted. When some of them inquired about the recipe they found out that it was made with sherbet, limeade, and mountain dew. Maybe they’ll make some at their next party.
I’ve never punched someone though the thought has crossed my mind numerous times in those moments, hours of frustration a physical blow seems appealing briefly but never once did I feel it was the answer which is so different from the mindsets of the teens I work with as it is most often their first instinct to fight and they see no way around it.
I punched the air violently and with fierce glee as I realized my plan had gone exactly as planned. Super villians in movies are always stupid at heart so the good guy wins, but in real life, if you’re smart enough, you’ll always come out one step above the cops… and as I ruffled the hundreds through my fingers, I laughed gently to myself.
When you punch somebody it hurts them. It’s a term of anger, ultimate anger. Let your fists run free and punch. Yeah. I often want to punch many things – people, places, faces, articles, idiots on the street.
we shared a glass of punch that night, my love. We awoke in each other’s arms as dawn broke and shared one last embrace before we had to leave to live out our lives
She glares at him from across the room, over the rim of her glass. *I am not a violent woman,* she repeats mentally, taking a steadying sip from her drink. The tangy sweetness districts her momentarily.
*Arrogant… shrimp.* Oh yes, *there’s* an insult that’ll bruise. She still really want to punch him in the face, wipe that gorgeous– no, smug, damn it– smile right off.
I hit the pillow so hard that I couldn’t even feel the thoughts running through my head. I punched towards the cement, towards the molten lava deep beneath my fingers. I punched it until I could feel its heartbeat within me. That pillow was alive. That pillow sacrificed so much to be so much for me.
I don’t like jokes. They ramble on until they finally get to an underwhelming punch line. I prefer one-liners; they don’t need an interminable set-up. It’s like getting the punch line without having to slog through the joke.
I just want to see the band, listen to their music, but on my way to the stage it’s just punching and screaming and shouting. Suddenly i feel your hand, you guide me to the front. A last punch and i’m there. Thank you!
When I was younger I used to beat the hell out of my younger brothers. Not all the time, but when they pissed me off, I really did. It was often over something stupid: a television show, a chore, what-have-you. Now that we’re older and fully-grown, I am shorter than both of them. And yet, despite the fact that I was brutal to them in our early years, and that they could demolish me now, they are annoyingly chivalrous. Wtf is that?
Sometimes I often want to punch annoying people. They tend to hit that one nerve, the one that sends my vision into glances of red and gets my fists pumping. Does it ever happen to you? Usually people who annoy me the most are the ones either steal the attention of my beloved or my beloved himself.
I grabbed inside the pouch…three small round candy like disks were inside.I felt for the first one.bang!it felt like i have been clobbered,’whoa,that baby packed quite a punch,’i said somewhat dizzily.
red and purple and blue, all over my dress. Ice and stains and spreading, throughout the threads and ribbons of silk. dripping onto the floor, spreading around me, as all my friends backed away, laughing. every splish splash onto the floor caused an uproar.
Let me tell you how it feels – it’s the destruction of many planets from within; it’s the baobabs galore on a poor star, and it’s the crack in the sky that makes the earth cry. It’s the bird migrating south with thunder at its tail. It’s the gods breaking dishes on the kitchen floor and the shards buried in permanence. It’s your skin turning over in its wake, crying from a rude nightmare. I used to need you. You used to need me. But now I don’t need you. We are nothing to each other now. If at all, anything, we shall destroy each other in blindness and deafness. Call me, call me by my name – see that I have left.
It hit me harder than anything before, the words were punctuated with fists straight to my face, how could he do this to us? how could he just leave with these few words? how can he throw this punch?
the little boy rose from underneath the chair moving slowly toward the condiments table his sipper bottle dangling from his salivating mouth. utilizing an unused bag of disposable cameras he climbed mount kodak and violently plunged his bottle into the sea of punch before his eyes.
Lylan stumbled backwards, quite shocked and holding his injured jaw in his hand. The blonde who had hit him looked equally surprised, and stared first at his first and then at his “opponent.” What was WRONG with him?
He punched me so hard that I stumbled back four feet and my head smacked the wall. My vision was blurry; head pounding, I barely felt him yank me up by the shirt…but I felt the full force of the back of his right hand against my cheek.
I want to punch some people in the face. People who can’t spell properly. People who only want me for ‘one thing’. People who won’t make the first move. People who don’t give me a chance to explain themselves.
I like drinking punch.
i wanted to punch him in the face. to see the reaction when he reached up and touched his cheek, knowing that yes, he had done something wrong. i was sick of being walked all over, taken for granted, and this time would not be like all the others. this time, i would watch him on the other side of that scene.
We lifted out plastic champagne flutes high in the air, clinking them over the sparkly felt table top. “To being a Princess!” we shouted before lowering our glasses and drinking in the sweet punch. Playing poker without alcohol was new — and even more fun with my Alcoholics Anonymous gals.
Sometimes I want to punch you. I loved you and gave you everything that I had. So Cliche yet so real. You love HER now, not me. And I can’t cope. I want to be that Her not have it be she.
He hit across the face, and she smiled for it, giggled at the sound of cartilage and heartstrings snapping, at how much money he would pay later for the surgery to fix it because they were goddamned to hell, and Buchanans always sin the best.
The world is not going crazy but most of the people in it are. I think they all drank the punch.
I leaned down and sniffed the reddish concoction in the bowl on the table, looking around first to make sure nobody was watching. It had a pungent aroma, which was interesting but certainly not very pleasant. Shrugging, I decided to ladle some into my glass. After all, having new experiences is what I was here for, right?
I punched the guy in the throat. His unwilling love hatred to my life. I had no longer any love for him. He was unfaithful, unloving. He abused, and was cruel with loving hatred.
So often, I want to punch myself for wasting my time. Wasting my time playing games. Wasting my time at a job I hate. Wasting my time in relationships that aren’t satisfying to me. Wasting my time thinking I need to be around people who are just holding me back. I can live alone. I can be creative again. Just…go.
Ow. Sometimes when I get sad or angry, I feel the need to hit someone. I hope that if I do, they’ll understand I don’t mean it just like I do right after I’ve done it.
it felt like a punch, the fist enveloping around my stomach in a twisted mesh of fat and organ, as if his hand was inside my body, moving, manipulating my insides to his desire. his mental desire. from that moment i listened to every word he ever spoke.
Sometimes, I just want to punch this phone at work. It’s kind of a Pavlovian thing, when it rings. It rings, and I just go into a rage. I think terrible things about the person on the other end, usually their incompetence or idiocy. That’s the life of a tech support person, I suppose. Maybe it’s just a sign that I hate my job and need out.
It really hurts when you punch people in the face. Punch is also juice. I like the tropical punch flavored Kool Aid, but I don’t understand why it’s blue on the packet and red when you make it. It’s weird. I wish Kool Aid was more consistent. My boyfriend punched this kid in the face at Starbucks once.
Punch as punch him in the face
Punch as in fruit punch I would give him after I punched him in the face
Punch like punch in your time card you’re not needed anymore
It would have been easier for me if you had punched me and left in violence. But you just left with sorrowful eyes that lied too much.
The punch at the wedding was some of the best that the guests had ever tasted. When some of them inquired about the recipe they found out that it was made with sherbet, limeade, and mountain dew. Maybe they’ll make some at their next party.
I’ve never punched someone though the thought has crossed my mind numerous times in those moments, hours of frustration a physical blow seems appealing briefly but never once did I feel it was the answer which is so different from the mindsets of the teens I work with as it is most often their first instinct to fight and they see no way around it.
I punched the air violently and with fierce glee as I realized my plan had gone exactly as planned. Super villians in movies are always stupid at heart so the good guy wins, but in real life, if you’re smart enough, you’ll always come out one step above the cops… and as I ruffled the hundreds through my fingers, I laughed gently to myself.
Addicted to the three-holed punch
Trios of circles that allow
Organization
Neatly aligned and usually dependable
Reinforcements, just in case
I would like to do so much more than just punch him in the face. He deserves a real ass-kicking.
I would like to absolutely ruin his sorry excuse for a life.
No one has ever inspired in me such malice as this demon has.
When you punch somebody it hurts them. It’s a term of anger, ultimate anger. Let your fists run free and punch. Yeah. I often want to punch many things – people, places, faces, articles, idiots on the street.
Is it spiked? It’s only fun when it’s spiked. It is, yes. Tonight is going to be a fun night.
we shared a glass of punch that night, my love. We awoke in each other’s arms as dawn broke and shared one last embrace before we had to leave to live out our lives
thinking of punch reminds me of the bridal shower my soon-to-be mother-in-law gave in my honor. tasty, summery, fruity
She glares at him from across the room, over the rim of her glass. *I am not a violent woman,* she repeats mentally, taking a steadying sip from her drink. The tangy sweetness districts her momentarily.
*Arrogant… shrimp.* Oh yes, *there’s* an insult that’ll bruise. She still really want to punch him in the face, wipe that gorgeous– no, smug, damn it– smile right off.
I hit the pillow so hard that I couldn’t even feel the thoughts running through my head. I punched towards the cement, towards the molten lava deep beneath my fingers. I punched it until I could feel its heartbeat within me. That pillow was alive. That pillow sacrificed so much to be so much for me.
I don’t like jokes. They ramble on until they finally get to an underwhelming punch line. I prefer one-liners; they don’t need an interminable set-up. It’s like getting the punch line without having to slog through the joke.
I just want to see the band, listen to their music, but on my way to the stage it’s just punching and screaming and shouting. Suddenly i feel your hand, you guide me to the front. A last punch and i’m there. Thank you!
When I was younger I used to beat the hell out of my younger brothers. Not all the time, but when they pissed me off, I really did. It was often over something stupid: a television show, a chore, what-have-you. Now that we’re older and fully-grown, I am shorter than both of them. And yet, despite the fact that I was brutal to them in our early years, and that they could demolish me now, they are annoyingly chivalrous. Wtf is that?
sucker-punch my stomach, leave me to bleed, no matter how long it takes, i’ll do the deed.
Sometimes I often want to punch annoying people. They tend to hit that one nerve, the one that sends my vision into glances of red and gets my fists pumping. Does it ever happen to you? Usually people who annoy me the most are the ones either steal the attention of my beloved or my beloved himself.
plumb lunch
pum
It came as a punch to my stomach. All the air was sucked out of my lungs and I couldn’t inhale. It was like a black cloud hovered in my esophagus.
I grabbed inside the pouch…three small round candy like disks were inside.I felt for the first one.bang!it felt like i have been clobbered,’whoa,that baby packed quite a punch,’i said somewhat dizzily.
red and purple and blue, all over my dress. Ice and stains and spreading, throughout the threads and ribbons of silk. dripping onto the floor, spreading around me, as all my friends backed away, laughing. every splish splash onto the floor caused an uproar.
Let me tell you how it feels – it’s the destruction of many planets from within; it’s the baobabs galore on a poor star, and it’s the crack in the sky that makes the earth cry. It’s the bird migrating south with thunder at its tail. It’s the gods breaking dishes on the kitchen floor and the shards buried in permanence. It’s your skin turning over in its wake, crying from a rude nightmare. I used to need you. You used to need me. But now I don’t need you. We are nothing to each other now. If at all, anything, we shall destroy each other in blindness and deafness. Call me, call me by my name – see that I have left.
It hit me harder than anything before, the words were punctuated with fists straight to my face, how could he do this to us? how could he just leave with these few words? how can he throw this punch?
the little boy rose from underneath the chair moving slowly toward the condiments table his sipper bottle dangling from his salivating mouth. utilizing an unused bag of disposable cameras he climbed mount kodak and violently plunged his bottle into the sea of punch before his eyes.
Lylan stumbled backwards, quite shocked and holding his injured jaw in his hand. The blonde who had hit him looked equally surprised, and stared first at his first and then at his “opponent.” What was WRONG with him?
He punched me so hard that I stumbled back four feet and my head smacked the wall. My vision was blurry; head pounding, I barely felt him yank me up by the shirt…but I felt the full force of the back of his right hand against my cheek.
I want to punch some people in the face. People who can’t spell properly. People who only want me for ‘one thing’. People who won’t make the first move. People who don’t give me a chance to explain themselves.
I like drinking punch.