little animals digging down deep, beneath crisp broken leaves and autumn dirt. snuggling close for warmth and breathing deep in the hollow of damp earth and roots dangling in the air. fuzzy brown family all squished together and cuddling, breathing quietly in the evening.
The day broke over night’s head,
As the mutant daffodill poked its head out of its hiding spot.
Things were not as they seemed.
Or should seem.
Its weeds tangled above ground, while the head came last,
Letting its feet do its dirty work.
Watch your step.
he was hiding in the burrow, not breathing. the heavy gear was weighing him down as the flags went up, the cannons shot, and his men next to him were falling. he ran out, trying to save as many as he could, before the last flight of power hit him in his chest.
halfbright
There was a burrow in the ground where a rabbit lived. He was white and had a family, but there was construction near his home. They built a hospital over his burrow and all was lost. He was homeless. His family was homeless. He hopped away. He was gone. Everything was a blur and once again he was lost in life.
He represents me. He represents living in this world. Lost.
Emilie
Watching the small animal burrow back into the ground, I wondered what it would be like to live life like that. If every time something remotely larger than me came near, I felt the need to burrow away, hide until I felt safe again. To put myself in a life of dark solitude because I was to afraid to come out and say hello to what could be the nicest thing I encounter in my entire existence.
deep holes pockets, the insides of shoes, shoe trees.. dark dank sleepy. i’m a swaddled baby. i’m in a hole. i’m covered in dirt. i’m digging upward like houdini barely escaping that horrid “magic trick.” up up up
I wanted us to be like those misfits, the ones who have nothing in common but come together anyway. I wanted to run through a field, hand in hand, toward the sunrise. I wanted to watch the sun set near a campfire on a shitty, quiet beach. I wanted it all. But they weren’t there. And neither was I. So I burrowed down into my blankets and forced my eyes to shut.
The four of us nestled together in the warmth of our makeshift home. I would never feel safe again anywhere else. I felt warm and only slightly claustrophobic.
Catherine
I burrow down and look inside of myself. Not talking, not thinking, just listening to my own thoughts. If I do not listen to myself, I will surely be lost in this horrible, intriguing world that has swallowed so many up.
the rabbit will live in its burrow. The borrow is a safe place to be for rabbit to live. They can bring their food in there and also raise their babies.
ross
Deeper, deeper. I buried my head into my pillows. Why couldn’t I just stay there forever? Away from pain, away from everything. Like a worm, doing nothing but hiding in the dirt, insignificant, but safe. No one needed my presence, my input, my trust, my friendship. My head sank further, the Downy-scented fabric soaking up my salty tears, and muffling my heavy breaths.
A. Rose
My hormones did not listen. I could see the vision now, so vivid and clear in my head. The scent of her perfume, pheromones and natural oils seemed so real. Oh god, I burrow my head between her supple pillowy chest cushions. God, they taste like fresh baked pie.
I looked down and saw my slice of pie, crushed to crumbs between my fingers.
dramarie
She dug deep. Down into the earth she plunged her fingers, scooping out as much dirt as she could, trying to make some kind of burrow or maybe just a final resting place. She didn’t care about her nails chipping or her skin breaking and bleeding.
She just wanted to be buried.
Celine Wu
We just could not believe our eyes after we saw the animal had burrow it way through the pine logs that we had placed in front of the door.
The way they burrowed into my marrow and how they scratched a life-long, unceasing, unvarying itch that I could only tell I had after it had been scratched. I paused at the period marking the end of that sentence. It was a singularity. A point of no return. Punctuation that punctured my perception; a portal. It felt like I was being pulled through that period to another period, a past I once was, or even more perplexing — somehow still was. A far-out question struck as lightening off in the distance that formed in a greater semblance of silence that enveloped as I lowered the music volume that instead sounded far away: “What would a writer write who believed in reincarnation? Or better yet, a metaphysical poet who, writing a poem so enigmatical as to evade vulgar materialist apprehension entirely and baffle the most acute, could not finish it in her lifetime needed an extension and a way to find it again?” And so came the thunder that rolled across centuries: “Let your passages be passages and may they, if they are pressed on by the heart that pumped blood in the hand that once wrote them, clear of all dust, rid of all rust, and gust open as doors inside of you.
The way they burrowed into my marrow and how they scratched a life-long, unceasing, unvarying itch that I could only tell I had after it had been scratched. I paused at the period marking the end of that sentence. It was a singularity. A point of no return. Punctuation that punctured my perception; a portal. It felt like I was being pulled through that period to another period, a past I once was, or even more perplexing — somehow still was. A far-out question struck as lightening off in the distance that formed in a greater semblance of silence that enveloped as I lowered the music volume that instead sounded far away: “What would a writer write who believed in reincarnation? Or better yet, a metaphysical poet who, writing a poem so enigmatical as to evade vulgar materialist apprehension entirely and baffle the most acute, could not finish it in her lifetime needed an extension and a way to find it again?” And so came the thunder that rolled across centuries: “Let your passages be passages and may they, if they are pressed on by the heart that pumped blood in the hand that once wrote them, clear of all dust, rid of all rust, and gust open as passageways.
The way they burrowed into my marrow and how they scratched a life-long, unceasing, unvarying itch that I could only tell I had after it had been scratched. I paused at the period marking the end of that sentence. It was a singularity. A point of no return. Punctuation that punctured my perception; a portal. It felt like I was being pulled through that period to another period, a past I once was, or even more perplexing — somehow still was. A far-out question struck as lightening off into the distance that formed in a greater semblance of silence that enveloped as I lowered the music volume of which instead sounded far away: “What would a writer write who believed in reincarnation? Or better yet, a metaphysical poet who, writing a poem so enigmatical as to evade vulgar materialist apprehension entirely and baffle the most acute, could not finish it in her lifetime needed an extension and a way to find it again?” And so came the thunder that rolled across centuries: “Let your passages be passages and may they, if they are pressed on by the heart that pumped blood in the hand that once wrote them, clear of all dust, rid of all rust, and gust open as passageways in the winds of their origin.
I don’t want to write. i just want to burrow underneathe the covers. I just want to hide away and catch up on sleep because I slept terribly the night before last and last night I was up so late that I’ve succeeded in only getting roughly 5 hours. And I know I have enough sleep to function and be even cheerful, but I am so tired, and now I get to recharge from being around people for the last couple days.
It doesn’t mean a thing. She’ll burrow it down, nail the coffin shut. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you’re trying to get her to look your way, trying so hard with your shuffled collar and twisted tight smile. But she won’t flinch. Believe me, she won’t move.
There are various animals would live in burrows. There are also the kinds who live in bowers or holes, such as hobbits. But hobbits are not animals, they like their creature comforts. The creatures who live in burrows do not have creature comforts though.
I watched him burrow deeper, looking for safety. He would not find it of course, his pursuer was much faster than he. She pulled him back out from behind the sofa, and screamed at him to finish his homework. An average weeknight in our house.
tonykeyesjapan
The cute little fluffy rabbit lay amidst the green slopy hills of Rabbityland. There ensconed amidst the terrain and hidden from virw was its was its comfy burrow-its home ! It was the most
spurti
I have no idea what the word burrow means since English isn’t my first language…
Riikka
He burrowed his way deeper into the rough soil. ‘I’m only human’ he thought, but was he? He looked at his hands; long, furry, thick long claws were protruding from where his fingers should have been. How had this happened? One minute he was in the field with Jimmy about to lunge at him for what he’d said, next minute he was burrowing his way deeper into the earth running from, what? a cat? Why should he be afraid of a cat?
Rowan Kenagy-Valtair
animal mouse water sex home trees grow brown green gray
dahlia_moscow
i lived in a burrow once. i was a rabbit. I am a rabbit! I ate carrots when they were around, given to me, donated -just like these words. I thought a lot for a rabbit, or maybe just the normal amount. I always asked other rabbits what they were thinking about, but they just went right on looking at me. Not saying a word. Munching away. I never did find out what they were thinking, or not. I simply retired to my burrow, tired, wondering what they were thinking.
Anna
I will sit in my burrow, I will not think, I will not come out until I will have sorted this out. oh, well, this will take a bit, I guess.
Raluc F
I can see all the divits in my front yard where the armadillas burrow looking for grubs or whatever it is they eat. I need to set a trap so I can catch them and stop them
Terrence Thomas
“Neku,” Joshua says quietly, nudging the boy a bit. The sun is shining in through the window at just the angle that would cast the light on Neku’s face if Joshua weren’t in its way. “Hey. It’s time to get up.”
He gets no response, shakes the arm Neku’s lying on for a moment. Neku just groans, pulls the blanket up over his head, and shoves his face into Joshua’s neck. He doesn’t even crack one eye open.
Joshua chuckles. “As comfortable as I’m sure you are, I am less so. I’d like to get up. At least move off of me, please.”
He gets a whole grunt at that, and then Neku’s throwing his arm blindly over Joshua’s waist and pulling him closer. “Mm… no,” he says, voice dry and creaky with sleep.
Joshua sighs, stares up at the ceiling and runs a hand through Neku’s hair. “…I have things to do today.”
The answer is delayed, but at least it comes. “…So do I.”
“Important things.”
“Mmhm.”
Silence.
“…Neku-”
“‘Couple more minutes,” Neku says, and Joshua sighs again, fingers still running through his hair.
“All right.”
Those minutes end up being more than ‘a couple’ when Neku falls asleep again, but Joshua doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. When he gets up, he’s careful not to wake him. For a moment, he watches Neku burrow deeper into the mess of blankets and pillows, but then he shakes his head and pulls himself away, heads for the bathroom.
Maybe Neku can afford to skip a few classes, but his duties as Composer won’t wait for him.
it was a small rabbit that caught my attention. what do you want I said to it. To write like william burrow he said . . .
brntuk
It flew past me and burrowed into it’s hole. I turned around. Oh god that’s what it was running from. I stood face the face with the largest monster I had ever seen. Saliva dribbled from his mouth as his large black eyes pierced mine. My heart leapt into my mouth. I had to run but my legs wouldn’t listen. I stood frozen to the spot as heavy black paws moved closer and closer. Without realizing it I had stepped back so my back was pressed to the cold stone wall behind me.
“Shit”, there was no escape. As if in slow motion I watched as the monster lowered his body preparing to spring at me. Frantically I searched the ground around me hoping there would be something, anything that I could use to protect myself. There was nothing. I closed my eyes feeling the tears build up behind. This was it. I could hear the paws push against the ground for the last time. A deep coarse roar erupted around me and that was it.
Hide. A place of peace. The only place you can go when the safest place to you becomes the scariest place you’ve ever been. Nirvana. What I need and want. A fleeting memory. Patience waiting for a better time.
Jahmi
you are buried deep within the chambers of my heart,
seeping through my veins
and swimming through my bloodstream
(swimming, not drowning
because you will never drown in me )
i wish it were the opposite,
that i could know you
as you knew me,
that you’d love me
as i loved you
i deserve a burial
you will never give me
F
I sniffed the burrow. Oh, he must have gone down there. I just know it. I smelled his blood. It was strong and I could easily pick it up. Then footsteps from behind me. I turned.
“Is he down there, Roger?”
I barked twice.
The man set down his rifle by my side. I sniffed it too.
“Good boy,” the man said as he patted my head. “The rabbit’s shot, no doubt about that. We’ll get him out soon. Just you see.”
Stephanie Jennifer
a mole burrowing in the ground to find its way away from the wolf who is trying to devour it. He goes anxiously as fast as his little feet can dig. his troubles inches behind him trying frantically to get it’s teeth into his haunches. When will this be over, the little mole thought, nothing is ever easy. The dirt slid past him in droves as he scrambles towards safety.
samantha DiVece
based on recent observation, i have noticed i am different. for most people, a day begins by waking up in the morning and having a nice day until given a reason not to. for myself, a regular day begins dark and discomforting until something comes along to brighten it. on the frequent occasion that i burrow in my bed or avoid human contact, i unintentionally create my own depressing fate. asi es la vida!
little animals digging down deep, beneath crisp broken leaves and autumn dirt. snuggling close for warmth and breathing deep in the hollow of damp earth and roots dangling in the air. fuzzy brown family all squished together and cuddling, breathing quietly in the evening.
The day broke over night’s head,
As the mutant daffodill poked its head out of its hiding spot.
Things were not as they seemed.
Or should seem.
Its weeds tangled above ground, while the head came last,
Letting its feet do its dirty work.
Watch your step.
Burrow the drones. Burrow the queens. Burrow everything!
he was hiding in the burrow, not breathing. the heavy gear was weighing him down as the flags went up, the cannons shot, and his men next to him were falling. he ran out, trying to save as many as he could, before the last flight of power hit him in his chest.
There was a burrow in the ground where a rabbit lived. He was white and had a family, but there was construction near his home. They built a hospital over his burrow and all was lost. He was homeless. His family was homeless. He hopped away. He was gone. Everything was a blur and once again he was lost in life.
He represents me. He represents living in this world. Lost.
Watching the small animal burrow back into the ground, I wondered what it would be like to live life like that. If every time something remotely larger than me came near, I felt the need to burrow away, hide until I felt safe again. To put myself in a life of dark solitude because I was to afraid to come out and say hello to what could be the nicest thing I encounter in my entire existence.
deep holes pockets, the insides of shoes, shoe trees.. dark dank sleepy. i’m a swaddled baby. i’m in a hole. i’m covered in dirt. i’m digging upward like houdini barely escaping that horrid “magic trick.” up up up
“Brrr,” the burros burrowed from the breeze.
I wanted us to be like those misfits, the ones who have nothing in common but come together anyway. I wanted to run through a field, hand in hand, toward the sunrise. I wanted to watch the sun set near a campfire on a shitty, quiet beach. I wanted it all. But they weren’t there. And neither was I. So I burrowed down into my blankets and forced my eyes to shut.
The four of us nestled together in the warmth of our makeshift home. I would never feel safe again anywhere else. I felt warm and only slightly claustrophobic.
I burrow down and look inside of myself. Not talking, not thinking, just listening to my own thoughts. If I do not listen to myself, I will surely be lost in this horrible, intriguing world that has swallowed so many up.
the rabbit will live in its burrow. The borrow is a safe place to be for rabbit to live. They can bring their food in there and also raise their babies.
Deeper, deeper. I buried my head into my pillows. Why couldn’t I just stay there forever? Away from pain, away from everything. Like a worm, doing nothing but hiding in the dirt, insignificant, but safe. No one needed my presence, my input, my trust, my friendship. My head sank further, the Downy-scented fabric soaking up my salty tears, and muffling my heavy breaths.
My hormones did not listen. I could see the vision now, so vivid and clear in my head. The scent of her perfume, pheromones and natural oils seemed so real. Oh god, I burrow my head between her supple pillowy chest cushions. God, they taste like fresh baked pie.
I looked down and saw my slice of pie, crushed to crumbs between my fingers.
She dug deep. Down into the earth she plunged her fingers, scooping out as much dirt as she could, trying to make some kind of burrow or maybe just a final resting place. She didn’t care about her nails chipping or her skin breaking and bleeding.
She just wanted to be buried.
We just could not believe our eyes after we saw the animal had burrow it way through the pine logs that we had placed in front of the door.
The way they burrowed into my marrow and how they scratched a life-long, unceasing, unvarying itch that I could only tell I had after it had been scratched. I paused at the period marking the end of that sentence. It was a singularity. A point of no return. Punctuation that punctured my perception; a portal. It felt like I was being pulled through that period to another period, a past I once was, or even more perplexing — somehow still was. A far-out question struck as lightening off in the distance that formed in a greater semblance of silence that enveloped as I lowered the music volume that instead sounded far away: “What would a writer write who believed in reincarnation? Or better yet, a metaphysical poet who, writing a poem so enigmatical as to evade vulgar materialist apprehension entirely and baffle the most acute, could not finish it in her lifetime needed an extension and a way to find it again?” And so came the thunder that rolled across centuries: “Let your passages be passages and may they, if they are pressed on by the heart that pumped blood in the hand that once wrote them, clear of all dust, rid of all rust, and gust open as doors inside of you.
The way they burrowed into my marrow and how they scratched a life-long, unceasing, unvarying itch that I could only tell I had after it had been scratched. I paused at the period marking the end of that sentence. It was a singularity. A point of no return. Punctuation that punctured my perception; a portal. It felt like I was being pulled through that period to another period, a past I once was, or even more perplexing — somehow still was. A far-out question struck as lightening off in the distance that formed in a greater semblance of silence that enveloped as I lowered the music volume that instead sounded far away: “What would a writer write who believed in reincarnation? Or better yet, a metaphysical poet who, writing a poem so enigmatical as to evade vulgar materialist apprehension entirely and baffle the most acute, could not finish it in her lifetime needed an extension and a way to find it again?” And so came the thunder that rolled across centuries: “Let your passages be passages and may they, if they are pressed on by the heart that pumped blood in the hand that once wrote them, clear of all dust, rid of all rust, and gust open as passageways.
The way they burrowed into my marrow and how they scratched a life-long, unceasing, unvarying itch that I could only tell I had after it had been scratched. I paused at the period marking the end of that sentence. It was a singularity. A point of no return. Punctuation that punctured my perception; a portal. It felt like I was being pulled through that period to another period, a past I once was, or even more perplexing — somehow still was. A far-out question struck as lightening off into the distance that formed in a greater semblance of silence that enveloped as I lowered the music volume of which instead sounded far away: “What would a writer write who believed in reincarnation? Or better yet, a metaphysical poet who, writing a poem so enigmatical as to evade vulgar materialist apprehension entirely and baffle the most acute, could not finish it in her lifetime needed an extension and a way to find it again?” And so came the thunder that rolled across centuries: “Let your passages be passages and may they, if they are pressed on by the heart that pumped blood in the hand that once wrote them, clear of all dust, rid of all rust, and gust open as passageways in the winds of their origin.
burrow
I don’t want to write. i just want to burrow underneathe the covers. I just want to hide away and catch up on sleep because I slept terribly the night before last and last night I was up so late that I’ve succeeded in only getting roughly 5 hours. And I know I have enough sleep to function and be even cheerful, but I am so tired, and now I get to recharge from being around people for the last couple days.
It doesn’t mean a thing. She’ll burrow it down, nail the coffin shut. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you’re trying to get her to look your way, trying so hard with your shuffled collar and twisted tight smile. But she won’t flinch. Believe me, she won’t move.
nia
There are various animals would live in burrows. There are also the kinds who live in bowers or holes, such as hobbits. But hobbits are not animals, they like their creature comforts. The creatures who live in burrows do not have creature comforts though.
I watched him burrow deeper, looking for safety. He would not find it of course, his pursuer was much faster than he. She pulled him back out from behind the sofa, and screamed at him to finish his homework. An average weeknight in our house.
The cute little fluffy rabbit lay amidst the green slopy hills of Rabbityland. There ensconed amidst the terrain and hidden from virw was its was its comfy burrow-its home ! It was the most
I have no idea what the word burrow means since English isn’t my first language…
He burrowed his way deeper into the rough soil. ‘I’m only human’ he thought, but was he? He looked at his hands; long, furry, thick long claws were protruding from where his fingers should have been. How had this happened? One minute he was in the field with Jimmy about to lunge at him for what he’d said, next minute he was burrowing his way deeper into the earth running from, what? a cat? Why should he be afraid of a cat?
animal mouse water sex home trees grow brown green gray
i lived in a burrow once. i was a rabbit. I am a rabbit! I ate carrots when they were around, given to me, donated -just like these words. I thought a lot for a rabbit, or maybe just the normal amount. I always asked other rabbits what they were thinking about, but they just went right on looking at me. Not saying a word. Munching away. I never did find out what they were thinking, or not. I simply retired to my burrow, tired, wondering what they were thinking.
I will sit in my burrow, I will not think, I will not come out until I will have sorted this out. oh, well, this will take a bit, I guess.
I can see all the divits in my front yard where the armadillas burrow looking for grubs or whatever it is they eat. I need to set a trap so I can catch them and stop them
“Neku,” Joshua says quietly, nudging the boy a bit. The sun is shining in through the window at just the angle that would cast the light on Neku’s face if Joshua weren’t in its way. “Hey. It’s time to get up.”
He gets no response, shakes the arm Neku’s lying on for a moment. Neku just groans, pulls the blanket up over his head, and shoves his face into Joshua’s neck. He doesn’t even crack one eye open.
Joshua chuckles. “As comfortable as I’m sure you are, I am less so. I’d like to get up. At least move off of me, please.”
He gets a whole grunt at that, and then Neku’s throwing his arm blindly over Joshua’s waist and pulling him closer. “Mm… no,” he says, voice dry and creaky with sleep.
Joshua sighs, stares up at the ceiling and runs a hand through Neku’s hair. “…I have things to do today.”
The answer is delayed, but at least it comes. “…So do I.”
“Important things.”
“Mmhm.”
Silence.
“…Neku-”
“‘Couple more minutes,” Neku says, and Joshua sighs again, fingers still running through his hair.
“All right.”
Those minutes end up being more than ‘a couple’ when Neku falls asleep again, but Joshua doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. When he gets up, he’s careful not to wake him. For a moment, he watches Neku burrow deeper into the mess of blankets and pillows, but then he shakes his head and pulls himself away, heads for the bathroom.
Maybe Neku can afford to skip a few classes, but his duties as Composer won’t wait for him.
it was a small rabbit that caught my attention. what do you want I said to it. To write like william burrow he said . . .
It flew past me and burrowed into it’s hole. I turned around. Oh god that’s what it was running from. I stood face the face with the largest monster I had ever seen. Saliva dribbled from his mouth as his large black eyes pierced mine. My heart leapt into my mouth. I had to run but my legs wouldn’t listen. I stood frozen to the spot as heavy black paws moved closer and closer. Without realizing it I had stepped back so my back was pressed to the cold stone wall behind me.
“Shit”, there was no escape. As if in slow motion I watched as the monster lowered his body preparing to spring at me. Frantically I searched the ground around me hoping there would be something, anything that I could use to protect myself. There was nothing. I closed my eyes feeling the tears build up behind. This was it. I could hear the paws push against the ground for the last time. A deep coarse roar erupted around me and that was it.
Hide. A place of peace. The only place you can go when the safest place to you becomes the scariest place you’ve ever been. Nirvana. What I need and want. A fleeting memory. Patience waiting for a better time.
you are buried deep within the chambers of my heart,
seeping through my veins
and swimming through my bloodstream
(swimming, not drowning
because you will never drown in me )
i wish it were the opposite,
that i could know you
as you knew me,
that you’d love me
as i loved you
i deserve a burial
you will never give me
I sniffed the burrow. Oh, he must have gone down there. I just know it. I smelled his blood. It was strong and I could easily pick it up. Then footsteps from behind me. I turned.
“Is he down there, Roger?”
I barked twice.
The man set down his rifle by my side. I sniffed it too.
“Good boy,” the man said as he patted my head. “The rabbit’s shot, no doubt about that. We’ll get him out soon. Just you see.”
a mole burrowing in the ground to find its way away from the wolf who is trying to devour it. He goes anxiously as fast as his little feet can dig. his troubles inches behind him trying frantically to get it’s teeth into his haunches. When will this be over, the little mole thought, nothing is ever easy. The dirt slid past him in droves as he scrambles towards safety.
based on recent observation, i have noticed i am different. for most people, a day begins by waking up in the morning and having a nice day until given a reason not to. for myself, a regular day begins dark and discomforting until something comes along to brighten it. on the frequent occasion that i burrow in my bed or avoid human contact, i unintentionally create my own depressing fate. asi es la vida!