We all have skeletons in ourr closets and baggage from their past. It’s best to put on a happy face and pretend like you don’t notice, or like you don’t care. It’s all good in the end.
I could see every bone in her body, the exact outline of her skeleton but still she told me she was fat. I wanted to cry for her and it seemed odd to me that she could not cry herself. How beautiful she had been when we’d first met and now she was waif of her former self. It was like I’d lost so much of her in so short a time and she couldn’t see that. More, she had to lose more weight she’d tell me. I couldn’t convince her otherwise and now when we lie in bed, I am left counting bones. I hope not to ever count her ashes.
When I think of skeleton, I think of all those bones in the body, still connected after what may have been hundreds of years of decay. No ligaments, nor tendons, yet they remain together. Perhaps it is dark magic at work (of course, magic is another word for science). Or perhaps they don’t really exist, but they’re all in our minds. Bad memories, fears, embarrassing secrets, all of those skeletons in the closet provide the glue to keep them [the skeletons] together and forever smiling; they know – everything. This makes them very real, inside our minds or not, I think. And they can grow to seriously damage us. What do we do? Should we fight them back a while and lock them in the closet (with, dare I say, a skeleton key)? Sadly, I won’t answer that rather rhetorical question. And that’s simply because I don’t know it myself. If you ever figure it out, be a pal and let me know?
the skeleton in the bathroom was starring right back at me in the mirror. solemn and emotionless, yet knowing everything I knew as well. I didn’t question why it was there because I knew. It was the reflection of my soul.
skeletons in my closet
permanent reminders of all i was
skeletons of what i wanted to be
of you
of me
of us?
was there ever an us?
souls and soles worn from walking, must and secrets and whispers of you
skeletons of what i wanted to be.
She wandered up the spiral staircase, hoping her candle would remain lit. The moaning was louder now, and she just wanted to stop it. Karina was terrified that it was a product of her own imagination, like Marc always told her. Tonight, however, she had the skeleton key, and so she could open the door standing between her and her sanity. Tonight, she would find the answer.
Karina reached her brother’s bedroom, and opened the creaking wooden door gingerly. He may have been in Saint Petersburg on business, but there was no telling which of the servants were trustworthy. She was afraid of the consequences should Marc find out about this midnight adventure.
The bedroom looked unsuspicious to an untrained eye, but Karina waited. The moaning came again, louder this time, and she closed her eyes in order to locate the sound. Her head started spinning – it sounded like it came from all around her, from within her even.
It was at this precise moment, about to solve the mystery that haunted her, that Karina fainted.
When she awoke the next morning, she had a splitting headache, and the old servant Brutus stood over her, concerned but quiet. He did not say a word, but offered her a mug of water.
“Thank you, Brutus,” Karina managed, while doing her best not to throw up. “I was looking for a portrait that Marc used to have of us,” she explained. “Mamma had it commissioned by one of the best artists in Saint Petersburg… The thing was spoiled for us once we realized that he was our father. The man we had known as Papa… was merely an illusion, a protection against the truth.” Coldly, she laughed. “Not that he ever knew that, of course.”
“I wanted it destroyed once we had discovered the truth – she told us on her deathbed, no less. Despite the hurt it caused us both, Marc refused to allow it destroyed. It took me years to face it, and I always told Marc I should never lay eyes on the thing again.
“And now… now that he has hidden it from me… I long to look on our innocent faces again, painted as they were with sins we were entirely unconscious of. But in seeking it, I seem to have been overcome by the past in a swoon.” She inhaled slowly, and attempted to rise to her feet. “Would you happen to know of a place secret to my brother — sacred enough to hold such a portrait?”
Brutus listened attentively and nodded. He proffered his hand, and smiled as Karina regained her feet. “M’lady, you fell almost right on top of it, as it were, as though your spirit knew where you were standing.” Karina looked at the floorboards and noticed a slight defect at the end of a board. Something in the hole it left glimmered in the sun.
“Thank you, Brutus. I hope you understand that my brother needs not hear of this incident. He has no time to reopen such old wounds.”
“Indeed, m’lady, as you wish,” Brutus nodded. As he turned to go, Karina placed a few silver coins in the pocket of his suit jacket. “Thank you, and be sure to ring if you need anything,” he added as he bowed out of the door. “The past can be a dangerous thing to face.”
death, when i hear the word skeleton… i think of death. my relationships with other people are realized through this word, because of my behavior, and because of the way i treat my family and friends. please god, forgive me.
I have skeletons tattooed all over my body. I have a skull on top of each foot, and a full skeleton on my side. They represent what we are all truly living for. Death. They are beautifully final..
Her body was a skeleton. The bones of the person she used to be, the person they expected her to be. But she was tired of living a life that was never truly hers. She wouldn’t let them control her any longer. She was no longer their puppet. She used to be a skeleton, but now she was going to be whole again.
bones. there was a murder and the girl was raped and cut apart and thrown in the woods where her dead body decomposed and a year later police found her
A dark hallway encompasses my surroundings. As I look into the abyss of the next door along the left side, there comes my dreaded horror: a skeleton! I jump backwards as though my own skeleton was detected by the skeleton.
So many things lie under human skin. Things that tie us all together, whether we are willing to admit it or not. We are all alike. We are nothing but skin and bone, just a skeleton trapped beneath a peachy shade. Nothing more, and nothing less.
I guess we all have one, right? A skeleton. But it’s not just every living thing either. It can be something that’s not so sentient. A theme. A sin. Even things have structure, have skeletons. A mistake hangs its remorse on the skeleton, so it can model our guilt.
Its in a lot of scary movies and it involves halloween. People dress up as it and you c!t it as a decoration or jewelry. There are many different uses of this word in all aspects of life. So many different things you can do.
the scary boney skeleton only came out on halloween to scare small children so he could steal their candy and feist on it for days, because he knew he would ne
It is basis of all life, whether plant or animal.is is bones or plant tissue…it is Halloween and day of the dead. A symbol of death and a symbol of life. It is the basis of medicine and modern medicine. It is an element in crime novels and tv shows. It is an iconic image. It is the bare bones of all images.
A skeleton. An empty frame of a person, that is what she was. “I’m skin and bones, now,” she thought to herself. Nothing remaining but her tiny and hopeful soul, faded and bruised, but alive.
The skeleton. The human masterpiece. The building blocks of the human person. It is so fragile. It makes one shudder about how fragile life can be. Life can be there and then the next your bones are broken and you’re in the hospital.
Skeletons are the basis of our bodies. Without them we wouldn’t have a solid foundation to stand upon. We would just be a mesh of skin and guts and who could possibly love that? Skeletons are also pretty freaky if you ask me, yet also beautiful in it’s own way.
There are so many skeletons in our closets. The things I have hid from the world.. they will never know. A good talk is something everyone needs. I think that the human body is an amazing creation.
death is forever and cannot be excaped let yourself be draged beneath the ground to feel the peace that comes when you are acceped into the abyss of being just a skeleton and have no more worryies of the flesh and can feel th
She looked in the mirror. “What are people talking about? I don’t have a problem. So what if I want to be thinner. Nothing wrong with that.” She had heard the rumors. People saying she looked like a skeleton. Saying she had an eating disorder. She just wanted to be thinner. She had been ‘the fat girl’ her whole life. She didn’t want to be that girl any longer. So what if she didn’t eat as much? Or…at all. She was fine. Let people talk. She was happy…at least that’s what the mask she wore portrayed.
skeleton’s are your bestfriends. until you get arthritis ofcourse, then your bones becom brittle and start to ignore your feelings. They just start betraying you, this applies to life as well. Oh who bothers. Skeletons ofcourse are not only scary. They get fractured and they cry!
the skeleton is a scary beast who torments little children on Halloween just to steal their candy…this upsets the children a great deal! so their parents have to buy them some more. because they fat. like really fat.
With new vigor, the treasure hunters dug into the hole, slowly uncovering the chest. Excitedly, i was dragged by my hair to get first look at the cursed treasure. The box was opened, along with my mouth to let loose a scream, but the reason for the scream surprised us all as the only thing in the box was a mostly decayed skeleton.
Skeletons are for Halloween. They’re for anatomy class. For disection. They’re in orthopedics and hospitals. But they also make you think of who you are when eveything else is stripped away.
we have one skeleton. so many bones for one skin to wrap around. broken bits, healing parts, and joints that will not always work right. one skeleton to us all, bones to last us a lifetime and then on.
inner human being. strong, yet brittle. symbolized death. Halloween decoration. can be rather creepy but also educational in the classroom. skeleton in your closet could refer to secrets or skeleton key could be an universal key.
I looked warily from side to side as I slowly crossed the grave yard. It was midnight, the witching hour. It’s just a stupid dare, I said to myself again. They wouldn’t care if I made it to the grave or not if they were really my friends.
All bodies are equal before… before science. The quote slipped from my mind, but I look forward to the day it graces her skin. Her love for the skeleton, every hook and hinge and nook, and the pale skin of death that covers it. She wants to know why.
We all have skeletons in ourr closets and baggage from their past. It’s best to put on a happy face and pretend like you don’t notice, or like you don’t care. It’s all good in the end.
From my spine to the finger tips of my toes I loved you so,
my skeleton broken in the middle of sun.
I could see every bone in her body, the exact outline of her skeleton but still she told me she was fat. I wanted to cry for her and it seemed odd to me that she could not cry herself. How beautiful she had been when we’d first met and now she was waif of her former self. It was like I’d lost so much of her in so short a time and she couldn’t see that. More, she had to lose more weight she’d tell me. I couldn’t convince her otherwise and now when we lie in bed, I am left counting bones. I hope not to ever count her ashes.
When I think of skeleton, I think of all those bones in the body, still connected after what may have been hundreds of years of decay. No ligaments, nor tendons, yet they remain together. Perhaps it is dark magic at work (of course, magic is another word for science). Or perhaps they don’t really exist, but they’re all in our minds. Bad memories, fears, embarrassing secrets, all of those skeletons in the closet provide the glue to keep them [the skeletons] together and forever smiling; they know – everything. This makes them very real, inside our minds or not, I think. And they can grow to seriously damage us. What do we do? Should we fight them back a while and lock them in the closet (with, dare I say, a skeleton key)? Sadly, I won’t answer that rather rhetorical question. And that’s simply because I don’t know it myself. If you ever figure it out, be a pal and let me know?
The frame of all vertebraes. Made up of spongy bone and bone marrow. Made up of calcium, regenerates every seven years.
the skeleton in the bathroom was starring right back at me in the mirror. solemn and emotionless, yet knowing everything I knew as well. I didn’t question why it was there because I knew. It was the reflection of my soul.
skeletons in my closet
permanent reminders of all i was
skeletons of what i wanted to be
of you
of me
of us?
was there ever an us?
souls and soles worn from walking, must and secrets and whispers of you
skeletons of what i wanted to be.
She wandered up the spiral staircase, hoping her candle would remain lit. The moaning was louder now, and she just wanted to stop it. Karina was terrified that it was a product of her own imagination, like Marc always told her. Tonight, however, she had the skeleton key, and so she could open the door standing between her and her sanity. Tonight, she would find the answer.
Karina reached her brother’s bedroom, and opened the creaking wooden door gingerly. He may have been in Saint Petersburg on business, but there was no telling which of the servants were trustworthy. She was afraid of the consequences should Marc find out about this midnight adventure.
The bedroom looked unsuspicious to an untrained eye, but Karina waited. The moaning came again, louder this time, and she closed her eyes in order to locate the sound. Her head started spinning – it sounded like it came from all around her, from within her even.
It was at this precise moment, about to solve the mystery that haunted her, that Karina fainted.
When she awoke the next morning, she had a splitting headache, and the old servant Brutus stood over her, concerned but quiet. He did not say a word, but offered her a mug of water.
“Thank you, Brutus,” Karina managed, while doing her best not to throw up. “I was looking for a portrait that Marc used to have of us,” she explained. “Mamma had it commissioned by one of the best artists in Saint Petersburg… The thing was spoiled for us once we realized that he was our father. The man we had known as Papa… was merely an illusion, a protection against the truth.” Coldly, she laughed. “Not that he ever knew that, of course.”
“I wanted it destroyed once we had discovered the truth – she told us on her deathbed, no less. Despite the hurt it caused us both, Marc refused to allow it destroyed. It took me years to face it, and I always told Marc I should never lay eyes on the thing again.
“And now… now that he has hidden it from me… I long to look on our innocent faces again, painted as they were with sins we were entirely unconscious of. But in seeking it, I seem to have been overcome by the past in a swoon.” She inhaled slowly, and attempted to rise to her feet. “Would you happen to know of a place secret to my brother — sacred enough to hold such a portrait?”
Brutus listened attentively and nodded. He proffered his hand, and smiled as Karina regained her feet. “M’lady, you fell almost right on top of it, as it were, as though your spirit knew where you were standing.” Karina looked at the floorboards and noticed a slight defect at the end of a board. Something in the hole it left glimmered in the sun.
“Thank you, Brutus. I hope you understand that my brother needs not hear of this incident. He has no time to reopen such old wounds.”
“Indeed, m’lady, as you wish,” Brutus nodded. As he turned to go, Karina placed a few silver coins in the pocket of his suit jacket. “Thank you, and be sure to ring if you need anything,” he added as he bowed out of the door. “The past can be a dangerous thing to face.”
death, when i hear the word skeleton… i think of death. my relationships with other people are realized through this word, because of my behavior, and because of the way i treat my family and friends. please god, forgive me.
I have skeletons tattooed all over my body. I have a skull on top of each foot, and a full skeleton on my side. They represent what we are all truly living for. Death. They are beautifully final..
Her body was a skeleton. The bones of the person she used to be, the person they expected her to be. But she was tired of living a life that was never truly hers. She wouldn’t let them control her any longer. She was no longer their puppet. She used to be a skeleton, but now she was going to be whole again.
bones. there was a murder and the girl was raped and cut apart and thrown in the woods where her dead body decomposed and a year later police found her
A dark hallway encompasses my surroundings. As I look into the abyss of the next door along the left side, there comes my dreaded horror: a skeleton! I jump backwards as though my own skeleton was detected by the skeleton.
So many things lie under human skin. Things that tie us all together, whether we are willing to admit it or not. We are all alike. We are nothing but skin and bone, just a skeleton trapped beneath a peachy shade. Nothing more, and nothing less.
I guess we all have one, right? A skeleton. But it’s not just every living thing either. It can be something that’s not so sentient. A theme. A sin. Even things have structure, have skeletons. A mistake hangs its remorse on the skeleton, so it can model our guilt.
Sometimes spooky, but really just part of everything’s anatomy. Halloween with tricks and treats.
Its in a lot of scary movies and it involves halloween. People dress up as it and you c!t it as a decoration or jewelry. There are many different uses of this word in all aspects of life. So many different things you can do.
the scary boney skeleton only came out on halloween to scare small children so he could steal their candy and feist on it for days, because he knew he would ne
skeleton. skeletal. like Ms Winehouse. so sad. too bad. i’ll always remember she said, “No, no, no.” no rehabilitation for you.
It is basis of all life, whether plant or animal.is is bones or plant tissue…it is Halloween and day of the dead. A symbol of death and a symbol of life. It is the basis of medicine and modern medicine. It is an element in crime novels and tv shows. It is an iconic image. It is the bare bones of all images.
A skeleton. An empty frame of a person, that is what she was. “I’m skin and bones, now,” she thought to herself. Nothing remaining but her tiny and hopeful soul, faded and bruised, but alive.
pale white, grey maybe, time to start digging, “Why”?, because the holes won’t dig themselve, “did you bring your butter knife”? “huh”?
The skeleton. The human masterpiece. The building blocks of the human person. It is so fragile. It makes one shudder about how fragile life can be. Life can be there and then the next your bones are broken and you’re in the hospital.
Skeletons are the basis of our bodies. Without them we wouldn’t have a solid foundation to stand upon. We would just be a mesh of skin and guts and who could possibly love that? Skeletons are also pretty freaky if you ask me, yet also beautiful in it’s own way.
There are so many skeletons in our closets. The things I have hid from the world.. they will never know. A good talk is something everyone needs. I think that the human body is an amazing creation.
death is forever and cannot be excaped let yourself be draged beneath the ground to feel the peace that comes when you are acceped into the abyss of being just a skeleton and have no more worryies of the flesh and can feel th
She looked in the mirror. “What are people talking about? I don’t have a problem. So what if I want to be thinner. Nothing wrong with that.” She had heard the rumors. People saying she looked like a skeleton. Saying she had an eating disorder. She just wanted to be thinner. She had been ‘the fat girl’ her whole life. She didn’t want to be that girl any longer. So what if she didn’t eat as much? Or…at all. She was fine. Let people talk. She was happy…at least that’s what the mask she wore portrayed.
closet. sorry.
There’s a skeleton in my basement.
Creaky and pure white, it stares with empty sockets through the darkness, watching my every move, every second of the day.
I don’t know how it got there, I swear.
skeleton’s are your bestfriends. until you get arthritis ofcourse, then your bones becom brittle and start to ignore your feelings. They just start betraying you, this applies to life as well. Oh who bothers. Skeletons ofcourse are not only scary. They get fractured and they cry!
the skeleton is a scary beast who torments little children on Halloween just to steal their candy…this upsets the children a great deal! so their parents have to buy them some more. because they fat. like really fat.
Scary boney Skelton rotting in the earth. This was where you were headed ever since your birth.
With new vigor, the treasure hunters dug into the hole, slowly uncovering the chest. Excitedly, i was dragged by my hair to get first look at the cursed treasure. The box was opened, along with my mouth to let loose a scream, but the reason for the scream surprised us all as the only thing in the box was a mostly decayed skeleton.
Skeletons are for Halloween. They’re for anatomy class. For disection. They’re in orthopedics and hospitals. But they also make you think of who you are when eveything else is stripped away.
bones
time.
life.
frustration.
give.
deaths.
broken.
science.
school.
hope.
mystery.
need.
skeleton
need.
timee goes bye.
we have one skeleton. so many bones for one skin to wrap around. broken bits, healing parts, and joints that will not always work right. one skeleton to us all, bones to last us a lifetime and then on.
White boney body, hanging in mr.bomba closet. Key opens door. Dead person. No longer living. Skulls.
inner human being. strong, yet brittle. symbolized death. Halloween decoration. can be rather creepy but also educational in the classroom. skeleton in your closet could refer to secrets or skeleton key could be an universal key.
I looked warily from side to side as I slowly crossed the grave yard. It was midnight, the witching hour. It’s just a stupid dare, I said to myself again. They wouldn’t care if I made it to the grave or not if they were really my friends.
Skeleton.
All bodies are equal before… before science. The quote slipped from my mind, but I look forward to the day it graces her skin. Her love for the skeleton, every hook and hinge and nook, and the pale skin of death that covers it. She wants to know why.