under the sheets its suppose to be secret… its hot… its comfy… read under the sheets,,, every thing is safe under there… safe from the darkness safe from the world
This sheet of paper is what I will write my whole ideas on. It will become the sheet that will bring me to fame and fortune (maybe?!). This sheet is where my ink will be splattered. This sheet is what will get me somewhere.
a couple of cops took the thug off of superior man’s hands.the man had a rap sheet a mile long.they probably never would have caught him if it wasn’t for supes.
sheet of music is a musicians time clock. the path at which he lives by and the beat of his heart. without the sheet time does not exist and his presence is dull and timeless and with it, he is eternity.
“Oh. Sheet.”
“‘Sheet’? Is that some new curse word you invented?”
“You don’t know what a sheet IS?”
“… no. Should I?”
“Well… yeah, actually.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t grow up in a ‘civilised’ country like you did.”
Rustling in the wind, flying through the sky, I am a white butterfly with the breeze beneath my square wings. I can be weighed down and wrapped in the soft cloth. I am but a sheet.
She thrashed and screamed, her body coated in a thin sheen of cold sweat, her eyes screwed shut. The sheet tangled around her legs and body until she finally awoke with a sharp gasp, panting and crying in the aftershocks of the nightmare.
The blank sheet or music on her desk stared at her, taunting her. God dammit, she wanted to write that song that had been in her head for years now, but the lack of ability was blatantly obvious. She had no clue how to play an instrument.
a sheet of paper.
well, when i first came to America, I couldn’t make a clear distinction of pronouncing sheet and shit.
so i ended up asking a friend for a workshit instead of a worksheet.
how funny is that
we used to lay in them. warm under the covers of your small twin bed. my first time was innocent and wonderful. as cheap as yours were, they’re the best i’ve ever lied in.
I lay the land, I fold the green
I shimmer stars across the sky
I can’t remember what I’ve seen
but I know I’d never lie
Like a sheet, across the sea
moonlight shot out from the black
and laid a path for all to see
across the sea and back.
sheets of dna join to for tertiary structured proteins. sheets of love music that bring sweetness into the soul and warm every red blood cell of blood.
His hands clutched at the white fabric, frantic fingers bunching it up. Soft whispers and moans spilled from his lips, floated up to her ears as she moved against him. Underneath her, he could not stay still.
It was all his idea. She was wary at first, but now, in the thick of things, she was finding it hard to convince herself that she didn’t want it too.
The sheets are cold against the girls legs. Her head is tucked finely into her pillow, eyes closed with endless dreams. When will she wake? The birds call outside, the sun rises, and her eyes open. Wake up, the day is new. It is waiting for you.
The sheet of paper lay in front of me. Its edges were wrinkled and worn. I didn’t know what to do with it, how to use it. But I knew there were endless possibilities.
A sheet of paper was the only remnance of reality in Tim’s mind. Deep space had cracked everything else. Oh god, John’s floating piss” he thought. Watch out…again.
This is a sheet of paper. Well technically, it’s a screen. Have computers replaced writing all together? When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone? Will our children even know about letters? The world has really changed.
With her long, bony fingers, the elderly lady began gingerly placing the unbaked, still-mushy cookies on the baking sheet before sliding it into the oven. Tossing her mittens on the countertop, she sighed and looked around for something else to do.
The sheet tangled in her foot as she tried to gracefully exit the bed. She cringed as she slammed into the wall, cursing silently, checking quickly to make sure her bed mate hadn’t stirred.
He hadn’t.
How could she even pretend there was any grace in this situation? She’d been drunk, he’d been willing
I grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote. My life, on paper, simple and sweet. There is was, for all to see, soon to be tacked to a board covered in business cards. This is me. This is Sally Mayfield, ready for the world at last.
The sheet of paper sits blankly before me, just waiting for me to fill it with words. I pick up my pencil, and twirl it between my fingers, waiting for inspiration to come. Inspiration is like a stubborn animal. You can’t force it to come to you. You just have to be patient, and wait for inspiration to come when it wants to. Otherwise you’ll end up unhappy with what you write.
It wasn’t until after I had pulled my sheets out of the wash that I realised that my perfectly-shaped scoop of washing powder hadn’t been put in the machine. This can’t continue – this has got to stop. All I wanted was a crsip, clean, fresh rest.
sheet is like shit. except we write a bunch of stuff on a sheet of paper. not surprisingly, we write a lot of shit on sheets of paper, bs. i see it everywhere. lots of dumb stuff.
she sat quietly on her mattress with her sheet balanced on her head creating a tent to hold all of her dreams until the sun would creep through the window.
i always thought of the saying “you can’t miss what
you never had” wondering
what this lull in my ribcage could be if not years
spent listening for your voice?
it was the steady beating of my own heart that told me
you did not exist.
She pulled she sheet over her head. Seriously? Another dreaming? Dreaming was the worst. The content was irrelevant- the sheer act of dreaming was exhausting. What’s the point of sleeping if you’re going to be active all night long?
I loved to snap the clean sheets and pin them to the rope that stretched across the yard into the neighbor’s lives and wonder if all my dreams, the ones that couldn’t wash away, were visible to anyone walking past holding onto their hats in the breeze.
it was pink. Pink with little edges of elastic. It was not the kind of sheet you would like to sleep on. It was more like the kind of sheet you bought when you didn’t really know where to go to buy decent sheets. It was a Tesco sheet.
A blank sheet of paper throws my mind into a whirlwind of mystery. Sometimes I meet confusion with a green, musty eye and others I meet clarity in all it’s pristine, gold and silver condition. It’s not my favorite place to mingle, but I will go when I need to.
Laying in a bed covered by only a sheet and nothing else, a person can be filled with more thoughts than that room can hold. The lightness of the sheet is comforting and encompassing, but light and flowy, allowing any thought to cross a person’s mind.
I can feel you through the sheet yet I can not feel your warmth. There is just a tiny bit of fabric between us but it makes a bigger difference than one would think.
under the sheets its suppose to be secret… its hot… its comfy… read under the sheets,,, every thing is safe under there… safe from the darkness safe from the world
This sheet of paper is what I will write my whole ideas on. It will become the sheet that will bring me to fame and fortune (maybe?!). This sheet is where my ink will be splattered. This sheet is what will get me somewhere.
a couple of cops took the thug off of superior man’s hands.the man had a rap sheet a mile long.they probably never would have caught him if it wasn’t for supes.
the sheets flutter in the wind. she is panting. she hears the sirens. she is tired. the bill will not go away. you need this. you need this.
sheet of music is a musicians time clock. the path at which he lives by and the beat of his heart. without the sheet time does not exist and his presence is dull and timeless and with it, he is eternity.
“Oh. Sheet.”
“‘Sheet’? Is that some new curse word you invented?”
“You don’t know what a sheet IS?”
“… no. Should I?”
“Well… yeah, actually.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t grow up in a ‘civilised’ country like you did.”
Rustling in the wind, flying through the sky, I am a white butterfly with the breeze beneath my square wings. I can be weighed down and wrapped in the soft cloth. I am but a sheet.
She thrashed and screamed, her body coated in a thin sheen of cold sweat, her eyes screwed shut. The sheet tangled around her legs and body until she finally awoke with a sharp gasp, panting and crying in the aftershocks of the nightmare.
The blank sheet or music on her desk stared at her, taunting her. God dammit, she wanted to write that song that had been in her head for years now, but the lack of ability was blatantly obvious. She had no clue how to play an instrument.
a sheet of paper.
well, when i first came to America, I couldn’t make a clear distinction of pronouncing sheet and shit.
so i ended up asking a friend for a workshit instead of a worksheet.
how funny is that
He walks away from the carnage that was his first and LAST marriage. A jogger sprints by. Their eyes meet.
we used to lay in them. warm under the covers of your small twin bed. my first time was innocent and wonderful. as cheap as yours were, they’re the best i’ve ever lied in.
I lay the land, I fold the green
I shimmer stars across the sky
I can’t remember what I’ve seen
but I know I’d never lie
Like a sheet, across the sea
moonlight shot out from the black
and laid a path for all to see
across the sea and back.
The sheet of my despair has been lifted-
I EXIST, I EXIST, I EXIST!!!
sheets of dna join to for tertiary structured proteins. sheets of love music that bring sweetness into the soul and warm every red blood cell of blood.
His hands clutched at the white fabric, frantic fingers bunching it up. Soft whispers and moans spilled from his lips, floated up to her ears as she moved against him. Underneath her, he could not stay still.
It was all his idea. She was wary at first, but now, in the thick of things, she was finding it hard to convince herself that she didn’t want it too.
The sheets are cold against the girls legs. Her head is tucked finely into her pillow, eyes closed with endless dreams. When will she wake? The birds call outside, the sun rises, and her eyes open. Wake up, the day is new. It is waiting for you.
Have you ever tried to fold a fitted sheet? I mean, what the hell.
The sheet of paper lay in front of me. Its edges were wrinkled and worn. I didn’t know what to do with it, how to use it. But I knew there were endless possibilities.
A sheet of paper was the only remnance of reality in Tim’s mind. Deep space had cracked everything else. Oh god, John’s floating piss” he thought. Watch out…again.
This is a sheet of paper. Well technically, it’s a screen. Have computers replaced writing all together? When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone? Will our children even know about letters? The world has really changed.
With her long, bony fingers, the elderly lady began gingerly placing the unbaked, still-mushy cookies on the baking sheet before sliding it into the oven. Tossing her mittens on the countertop, she sighed and looked around for something else to do.
The sheet tangled in her foot as she tried to gracefully exit the bed. She cringed as she slammed into the wall, cursing silently, checking quickly to make sure her bed mate hadn’t stirred.
He hadn’t.
How could she even pretend there was any grace in this situation? She’d been drunk, he’d been willing
I grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote. My life, on paper, simple and sweet. There is was, for all to see, soon to be tacked to a board covered in business cards. This is me. This is Sally Mayfield, ready for the world at last.
It was blank. But full of possibilities.
Like me.
The sheet of paper sits blankly before me, just waiting for me to fill it with words. I pick up my pencil, and twirl it between my fingers, waiting for inspiration to come. Inspiration is like a stubborn animal. You can’t force it to come to you. You just have to be patient, and wait for inspiration to come when it wants to. Otherwise you’ll end up unhappy with what you write.
Flapping in the wind,
Trapped by wood,
Dangling for all to see
Along this wire,
I will always be.
It wasn’t until after I had pulled my sheets out of the wash that I realised that my perfectly-shaped scoop of washing powder hadn’t been put in the machine. This can’t continue – this has got to stop. All I wanted was a crsip, clean, fresh rest.
sheet is like shit. except we write a bunch of stuff on a sheet of paper. not surprisingly, we write a lot of shit on sheets of paper, bs. i see it everywhere. lots of dumb stuff.
she sat quietly on her mattress with her sheet balanced on her head creating a tent to hold all of her dreams until the sun would creep through the window.
What you write or sleep on. You can use it as a halloween costume. Can be paper, can be fabric. It rhymes with sheep.
paper, white, dollarstore, tree, banch forest, pillow bed sleepover bestfriends love boyfriend concent ghost tst school and library books,
i always thought of the saying “you can’t miss what
you never had” wondering
what this lull in my ribcage could be if not years
spent listening for your voice?
it was the steady beating of my own heart that told me
you did not exist.
She pulled she sheet over her head. Seriously? Another dreaming? Dreaming was the worst. The content was irrelevant- the sheer act of dreaming was exhausting. What’s the point of sleeping if you’re going to be active all night long?
I loved to snap the clean sheets and pin them to the rope that stretched across the yard into the neighbor’s lives and wonder if all my dreams, the ones that couldn’t wash away, were visible to anyone walking past holding onto their hats in the breeze.
Flowing from the mouth of the orator like sheets on a bed, the words drifted through the crowd, infecting all with their ideas.
it was pink. Pink with little edges of elastic. It was not the kind of sheet you would like to sleep on. It was more like the kind of sheet you bought when you didn’t really know where to go to buy decent sheets. It was a Tesco sheet.
A blank sheet of paper throws my mind into a whirlwind of mystery. Sometimes I meet confusion with a green, musty eye and others I meet clarity in all it’s pristine, gold and silver condition. It’s not my favorite place to mingle, but I will go when I need to.
Laying in a bed covered by only a sheet and nothing else, a person can be filled with more thoughts than that room can hold. The lightness of the sheet is comforting and encompassing, but light and flowy, allowing any thought to cross a person’s mind.
I can feel you through the sheet yet I can not feel your warmth. There is just a tiny bit of fabric between us but it makes a bigger difference than one would think.