I was shooting bullets in
the wild west. I pulled
my revolver from
its leather holster on my hip.
I was flinging led because of
what that guy said.
In the end, I shot him dead.
Hollow points stuck in his head.
They fly past my face
I don’t know if I can win this race
The one with the bullets is around here somewhere
This is far yet my worst nightmare
His shadows creep around me
Like a slithering serpent
I heard the shot of the bullet
Felt the blood streaming
Right then and there, I knew I lost the race.
Bullets cut past frigid air,
Adorning Blood as ribbons.
The Battle seems to last forever
On this frozen Field.
The Guns scream out
And Soldiers fall
Yet nobody will Yield.
The bullets fly
the deer runs
did I hit it
did I miss
I hope I got it so I can have some good fried deer meat.
Yes!
I got it.
Now to take it home and fry it up
Damen jumped in front of the bullet
and missed and hit the rock and
bounced off and hit jay ray
and he died why damen cried
why jay ray was laughing at him crying and
jay ray died if ur wondering to all the people who is reading it this is not a poem its a romantic story
I left Kyoto the same way i left Shimoda in a bullet train.
I never wanted to leave Shimoda but i did want to leave Kyoto for i was homesick.
For my mother and my sister are my home.
They are my comfort.
Boring learning. Stuck in a classroom…listening to drone. What are your bullet points? They shoot me as deadly as a weapon would. Don’t make me sit to learn, you are killing me. Let us all get up and explore the world instead.
ml
When you write a shopping list you often use markers which are reffered to as bullets. Does this mean they also have the capactiy to kill? Perhaps they’re bullets in a sense that they kill things you need to do. Like, if we didn’t use bullet points maybe we do things less.
This sounds like a study we as a human race need to do. Our productivity as a species could depend on use of bullet points.
The words tore through her, narrowly missing vital organs as they left gaping holes in her body. She stared with glassy eyes, with long dried tears on her face. This couldn’t be happening.
It could be happening and it was happening. And that was the worst part of it.
Bullets are, arguably, one of the most dangerous things to ever be invented. which is strange to think seeing that they are merely spherical shaped pieces of metal.
Les
so this is such an ugly word. I cringe when I read and feel it lolling around in my mouth. Who invented bullets? Was it originally intended for a ‘better’ purpose; something more productive than what we know today about bullets?
Laurie
Test test
L
They tear through the air, zipping and zapping my ear before they land and crack at their destination. They travel faster than the vibrations they create. One gets hit before they are physically allowed to even hear it.
Arturo Alvarez
The bullets were flying. They were my own though. Why am I shooting at myself, I think that’s an important question, although it’s one I don’t have an answer for. I wish I knew. Why am I so cruel to myself, when I am the person I should love most? I need to change, for my own well being.
Chyan
The bullets rang through the air as she ducked behind a wall. She pulled out the shotgun from her belt and took a deep breath.
This was it. She couldn’t stop now. She was so close to escaping she could almost taste it!
Nivetha
Cupid aimed the gun, sighted down the barrel, and let those bullets fly.
Then he watched sparks fly between the two strangers.
Ha.
Arrows were so last century.
Words like bullets from a gun. Small and unassuming until the force of the gun is put behind it.
sarah
The words that sprang to her lips weren’t kind ones. They were words meant to tear, burn, rip through flesh and hearts like ruthless bullets from a smoking gun. She didn’t mean to, she really didn’t, but her mouth moved and the trigger was pulled.
One, two, three. They left the barrel and the once cold, perfectly fitting shards of metal prove their worth. He masks himself with his bandanna and scoffs at his own stench of smoke and desert sweat.
Bullets like rain in a chicago ghetto. Bullets are cruel and indiffierent. When you’re born, you’ve got a bullet with your name on it hurtling through space coming right for you, my mother said. I always believed her.
monica franz
Washington’s basketball team was called the Bullets, but they changed the name like that could erase the truth that bullets and not b-balls where the nations capitals favorite past time.
Avee
Bullets can be means of destruction and death while simultaneously being means of preservation of life. This is a strange dichotomy. We now debate the issues of who should be allowed to have bullets (or guns rather, but what are guns without bullets)? What will the bullets of the future be? Will we have false bullets?
Joy
I looked at my hand as it shook. I didn’t want to do it I didn’t want to see the blood pool beneith his body. The man I had once loved was dead, by my bullet. No by my many bullest; what had I done?
Andriana Longwell
One bullet through my head.
One bullet through my heart.
One bullet through my soul, and I fall into darkness.
I am selfish.
Evie
Bullets. Ricochet…..everywhere it seems. When will it take America to see that bullets do more than instill pride within themselves. They hurt. They kill. They cause the very pain that pride covers. Get rid of them. Let them ricochet out my life.
Sierra
the guy shit bullets when he first saw the crocodile coming after his mrs. then mr dundee jumped on the gator and shot some bullets right into his head. Got themselves some nice louisianan gator and $10 000 to spare !!!! hahahahahahahahahahahahah
jumbo
“You saying I can dodge bullets?” – NEO
Wouldn’t that be pretty cool? If we could actually dodge bullets. That would also be a little scary too for those that abuse the power.
“Why is everyone sitting on the floor?” –
“Bullets.”
another movie with Keanu Reeves haha I like movies
Bullets come from a gun, but they are also what you use to separate lists or ideas on paper. They both have there origin in pointing straight towards the target.
Caroline Tyree
The bullets flew past my face. I ducked for cover behind the bushes. The whistling sound pierced my ears, my brother looked very scared. Suddenly the
Andre Monardo
The bullets whizzed past and hit the wall on the other side of the street. Moua laid down and covered his head, wishing he were someplace else. When he lived in his home country, he was accustomed to fighting, but now that he was supposedly living in a peaceful country, he couldn’t understand why people were still shooting at each other. He never should have gone to Fresno for shopping, he thought.
The bullets flew past my face. The whistling sound pierced my ears. I ducked behind a small shrub and took cover. Mud squelched beneath me.
Andre Monardo
Bullets
– One are pointy
– Are fired from guns
– are the kind of points I am making here.
Ammunition
– Is what the word Bullets is giving me, t write this.
– Usually consists of multiple bullets.
Paul Bristow
All these bullets being thrown at us. Taking so many hits blow by blow.
Now I’m tired of all these bullets. I’m tired of reloading every time I’m drained out. And are bullets even worthy to be filled in?
My dad likes bullets…he likes guns. He makes stuff with bullets or he also uses them as a keychain. He knows every kind of bullet possible. He always knows exactly what kid they are. He’s smart when it comes to guns and bullets.
Alyssa
The sound of glass breaking was deafening. Sharp shards came flying past me as I threw my body to the ground, crashing into the hard tile and shoving my head under my chest. The sudden explosions of bullets hitting the wall infront of me spit wood and paint everywhere, making the room seem like a tornado of debris was swirling above my head. I risked a glance to the side of me and the sight of my brother’s bloody back made my blood run cold. He had adopted the same position as I had the moment the bullets started flying, but had faired much worse than I. His shirt had been torn, his left shoulder looked out of place as he held his arm up and over his head, and strips of his skin had been taken off as easily as it would have been to peel a potato. The round of bullets stopped, but we dare not move. Everything seemed to freeze, even time. It hung there in the dusty sunlight hindering us from doing anything but curl up onto the floor. I was almost grateful for the thick, mahogany table that had broken most of the bullets’ journey. We probably wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for that thing. I made a mental note to send Ikea a thank you letter. After what seemed like a lifetime, I heard my brother finally shift, groaning in pain. This pushed me into action. I needed to get up, grab the documents lying strewn on the floor, and get my brother to a Safe House. I could hear people in the street below us beginning to panic, and felt a pang of guilt for the other inhabitants of the block of flats. They didn’t deserve this at all, and yet some of them had probably been hurt purely because we had decided to use this building as a base of operation. But I needed to push through this, as surely the owners of those guns would soon come to the flat to make sure we were dead like they wanted. My mind flashed back to what had transpired only a few minutes before and shook my aching head in disbelief, I couldn’t believe we survived that. Another groan broke my thoughts and I glanced sideways. Well, almost.
I was shooting bullets in
the wild west. I pulled
my revolver from
its leather holster on my hip.
I was flinging led because of
what that guy said.
In the end, I shot him dead.
Hollow points stuck in his head.
They fly past my face
I don’t know if I can win this race
The one with the bullets is around here somewhere
This is far yet my worst nightmare
His shadows creep around me
Like a slithering serpent
I heard the shot of the bullet
Felt the blood streaming
Right then and there, I knew I lost the race.
Bullets cut past frigid air,
Adorning Blood as ribbons.
The Battle seems to last forever
On this frozen Field.
The Guns scream out
And Soldiers fall
Yet nobody will Yield.
The bullets fly
the deer runs
did I hit it
did I miss
I hope I got it so I can have some good fried deer meat.
Yes!
I got it.
Now to take it home and fry it up
Damen jumped in front of the bullet
and missed and hit the rock and
bounced off and hit jay ray
and he died why damen cried
why jay ray was laughing at him crying and
jay ray died if ur wondering to all the people who is reading it this is not a poem its a romantic story
Bullet: fast, flaming, bird, rocket, rock, smash, and winner.
The bullet was as fast as a rocket.
The bullet was flaming.
The bullet hit a bird and smashed it to pieces.
The bullet was the winner.
bullets is what killz my deer and other stuff i shoot at
gun deer turkeys squrril outside camping fun cool
I left Kyoto the same way i left Shimoda in a bullet train.
I never wanted to leave Shimoda but i did want to leave Kyoto for i was homesick.
For my mother and my sister are my home.
They are my comfort.
Boring learning. Stuck in a classroom…listening to drone. What are your bullet points? They shoot me as deadly as a weapon would. Don’t make me sit to learn, you are killing me. Let us all get up and explore the world instead.
When you write a shopping list you often use markers which are reffered to as bullets. Does this mean they also have the capactiy to kill? Perhaps they’re bullets in a sense that they kill things you need to do. Like, if we didn’t use bullet points maybe we do things less.
This sounds like a study we as a human race need to do. Our productivity as a species could depend on use of bullet points.
The words tore through her, narrowly missing vital organs as they left gaping holes in her body. She stared with glassy eyes, with long dried tears on her face. This couldn’t be happening.
It could be happening and it was happening. And that was the worst part of it.
Bullets are, arguably, one of the most dangerous things to ever be invented. which is strange to think seeing that they are merely spherical shaped pieces of metal.
so this is such an ugly word. I cringe when I read and feel it lolling around in my mouth. Who invented bullets? Was it originally intended for a ‘better’ purpose; something more productive than what we know today about bullets?
Test test
They tear through the air, zipping and zapping my ear before they land and crack at their destination. They travel faster than the vibrations they create. One gets hit before they are physically allowed to even hear it.
The bullets were flying. They were my own though. Why am I shooting at myself, I think that’s an important question, although it’s one I don’t have an answer for. I wish I knew. Why am I so cruel to myself, when I am the person I should love most? I need to change, for my own well being.
The bullets rang through the air as she ducked behind a wall. She pulled out the shotgun from her belt and took a deep breath.
This was it. She couldn’t stop now. She was so close to escaping she could almost taste it!
Cupid aimed the gun, sighted down the barrel, and let those bullets fly.
Then he watched sparks fly between the two strangers.
Ha.
Arrows were so last century.
Bullets whizzing by my temple. Fired from a Filipino general.
Words like bullets from a gun. Small and unassuming until the force of the gun is put behind it.
The words that sprang to her lips weren’t kind ones. They were words meant to tear, burn, rip through flesh and hearts like ruthless bullets from a smoking gun. She didn’t mean to, she really didn’t, but her mouth moved and the trigger was pulled.
One, two, three. They left the barrel and the once cold, perfectly fitting shards of metal prove their worth. He masks himself with his bandanna and scoffs at his own stench of smoke and desert sweat.
Bullets like rain in a chicago ghetto. Bullets are cruel and indiffierent. When you’re born, you’ve got a bullet with your name on it hurtling through space coming right for you, my mother said. I always believed her.
Washington’s basketball team was called the Bullets, but they changed the name like that could erase the truth that bullets and not b-balls where the nations capitals favorite past time.
Bullets can be means of destruction and death while simultaneously being means of preservation of life. This is a strange dichotomy. We now debate the issues of who should be allowed to have bullets (or guns rather, but what are guns without bullets)? What will the bullets of the future be? Will we have false bullets?
I looked at my hand as it shook. I didn’t want to do it I didn’t want to see the blood pool beneith his body. The man I had once loved was dead, by my bullet. No by my many bullest; what had I done?
One bullet through my head.
One bullet through my heart.
One bullet through my soul, and I fall into darkness.
I am selfish.
Bullets. Ricochet…..everywhere it seems. When will it take America to see that bullets do more than instill pride within themselves. They hurt. They kill. They cause the very pain that pride covers. Get rid of them. Let them ricochet out my life.
the guy shit bullets when he first saw the crocodile coming after his mrs. then mr dundee jumped on the gator and shot some bullets right into his head. Got themselves some nice louisianan gator and $10 000 to spare !!!! hahahahahahahahahahahahah
“You saying I can dodge bullets?” – NEO
Wouldn’t that be pretty cool? If we could actually dodge bullets. That would also be a little scary too for those that abuse the power.
“Why is everyone sitting on the floor?” –
“Bullets.”
another movie with Keanu Reeves haha I like movies
Bullets are fired from a gun, but they are also used to separate lists and ideas. Both serve to get straight to the point and address a concise issue.
Bullets come from a gun, but they are also what you use to separate lists or ideas on paper. They both have there origin in pointing straight towards the target.
The bullets flew past my face. I ducked for cover behind the bushes. The whistling sound pierced my ears, my brother looked very scared. Suddenly the
The bullets whizzed past and hit the wall on the other side of the street. Moua laid down and covered his head, wishing he were someplace else. When he lived in his home country, he was accustomed to fighting, but now that he was supposedly living in a peaceful country, he couldn’t understand why people were still shooting at each other. He never should have gone to Fresno for shopping, he thought.
The bullets flew past my face. The whistling sound pierced my ears. I ducked behind a small shrub and took cover. Mud squelched beneath me.
Bullets
– One are pointy
– Are fired from guns
– are the kind of points I am making here.
Ammunition
– Is what the word Bullets is giving me, t write this.
– Usually consists of multiple bullets.
All these bullets being thrown at us. Taking so many hits blow by blow.
Now I’m tired of all these bullets. I’m tired of reloading every time I’m drained out. And are bullets even worthy to be filled in?
My dad likes bullets…he likes guns. He makes stuff with bullets or he also uses them as a keychain. He knows every kind of bullet possible. He always knows exactly what kid they are. He’s smart when it comes to guns and bullets.
The sound of glass breaking was deafening. Sharp shards came flying past me as I threw my body to the ground, crashing into the hard tile and shoving my head under my chest. The sudden explosions of bullets hitting the wall infront of me spit wood and paint everywhere, making the room seem like a tornado of debris was swirling above my head. I risked a glance to the side of me and the sight of my brother’s bloody back made my blood run cold. He had adopted the same position as I had the moment the bullets started flying, but had faired much worse than I. His shirt had been torn, his left shoulder looked out of place as he held his arm up and over his head, and strips of his skin had been taken off as easily as it would have been to peel a potato. The round of bullets stopped, but we dare not move. Everything seemed to freeze, even time. It hung there in the dusty sunlight hindering us from doing anything but curl up onto the floor. I was almost grateful for the thick, mahogany table that had broken most of the bullets’ journey. We probably wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for that thing. I made a mental note to send Ikea a thank you letter. After what seemed like a lifetime, I heard my brother finally shift, groaning in pain. This pushed me into action. I needed to get up, grab the documents lying strewn on the floor, and get my brother to a Safe House. I could hear people in the street below us beginning to panic, and felt a pang of guilt for the other inhabitants of the block of flats. They didn’t deserve this at all, and yet some of them had probably been hurt purely because we had decided to use this building as a base of operation. But I needed to push through this, as surely the owners of those guns would soon come to the flat to make sure we were dead like they wanted. My mind flashed back to what had transpired only a few minutes before and shook my aching head in disbelief, I couldn’t believe we survived that. Another groan broke my thoughts and I glanced sideways. Well, almost.