What a beautiful gown she’s wearing as she walks down the aisle toward her future mate. The white implies innocence, and what a lie that is – she couldn’t be innocent if her life depended on it. Harlot. But the gown – oh how I wish I could fit into it, you know? Simple, refined, and the colors are just right! I envy her ability to fit into it.
Kaidee
The gown was streaming down her body like a wet napkin clinging for dear life. Her thighs were exquisite within the sheer confines of the fabric, wrapped around each like a warm hug. David couldn’t take his eyes away.
AfterMath
She would never have worn that colour. Candy pink satin, cheap and too shiney. Her face was cold, appalled, as she lay like the last fussy chocolate that nobody wanted to unwrap.
jayar
she walked on in her gown, rather impressive given her nonchalance, she strolled barren and unmade because she had grown rather comfortable and needed not to impress a mirror. life was easy for her. relatively. her troubles were still neurotic, still unwarranted and still a mark on an otherwise beautiful woman, but that’s just the way she’ll be, I thought. could she be any other way? and didn’t I once find such a strange conflict of self quite compelling? i just wanted to see the cause behind the deprecation. she could wear her gown in front of me, but not much less. that was as intimate as it got.
dysrianism
Sometimes, when Lucy looked at him and smirked, and her eyes and her dress glittered, the Master almost forgot that she was just a part of the plan.
Haley
how can it be seen as this beautiful thing? It is a moment of happiness in the galactic vortex of time. It is the flare of the match, lasting only a second, before it begins to stabilize, and then burn out. We will be gone from here one day. No matter what, time still moves. As sure as 1 goes to 2, this universe will one day end.
It was ragged, torn and overall disheveled. It had been dirtied with mud, snagged on twigs and shredded by thorns. Yet the girl who wore it never looked more beautiful. she had been gone so long, and seeing her again was like finding a diamond.
k
She looked like a goddess, waking up after a slumber. And how beautiful was this goddess? More wonderful than all of Olympus, and the wondering eyes in the crowd couldn’t comprehend the wonder of the woman beneath the gown.
Raymond
Her silver silk night gown hung on her body like a cloth meant to cover a statue the night before an opening. Within her was a desire to be something greater than projected. Within her, she was both solid and flexible, shining, and slipping from her own dimensions.
she had a way of freezing time. maybe it was the way her steps were slow and graceful and easy, or maybe it was that look in her eyes. the one that told everyone in the room that she knew exactly what kind of power she had over them.
Her gown fell onto the floor, as white as snow. She looked extravagant, beautiful. Her soft pale skin, her thin, pink lips. She smiled as the guests stood to welcome her down the aisle. She flushed faintly as her father accidently stepped onto the hem of her gown. And there he was.
“Going down,” he would say, when he first started working there. Then the doors would clatter shut and his white-gloved hand would pull the lever and, sure enough, down they would go. And then, “Going up,” from the lobby, and the counterweights would slide past and with an angelic levity the car would rise back up. This was twenty years ago, mind you, when it was that nice. But gears wind down. With a little bit of use, they don’t slide so smoothly like they used to. And soon enough, the ‘going up’ part took a little more than the ‘going down.’ Going down’s a lot easier. Just release the brakes and let the good Lord take you there. Going up requires motors and pulleys and things; complicated things that can wear down. And soon enough, the gloves weren’t so white. I mean, they were still white, but not glowing white like they were when he started. They were just a little grayer, I guess. And then they got a bit ripped, and his outfit didn’t seem to shine like it used to. And neither did he, if you know what I mean. Sometimes he wouldn’t say anything. He’d just shut the doors, and sometimes when people were still coming, and yank on that lever and shoot down the shaft and plunk to the bottom. And if he said anything, it came out a bit slurred. “Going down” was just a messed up contraction. “Go’own” he’d say, like he was talking about ladies dressing garments, or something you might wear to a really fancy soiree. And I’m sure he saw enough of those, twenty years in that place. How many people’d he take up from the lobby, from the doorman and the bellboys, up to the penthouses, them wearin’ fancy suits and dresses, their skin reakin’ like cigarettes and their breath just a little laced with martinis? And him in that goddamned outfit and gloves. Up, down. Up, down. Twenty years o’ that. And so one day he didn’t even say it. He just slammed the door, pulled off all the breaks, and went down, about as far as he could go, with a huge ruckus and commotion, all the way from the penthouses straight to the ground floor.
My gown is ripped in two.
My soul in 17.
Succulent silence is lacking in this noisy town.
Never a second of solitude and peace.
My soul in 17.
My gown painted red.
A wedding gown? On the woman of my dreams. walking down the aisle as I watch the one I’ll spend the rest of my life with, A smile ill never get sick of and future so bright it’ll never go dim.
Christian Zoll
She went downstairs to see what the noise was that woke her up. As she stepped on the second stair her gown tangled under her foot and she fell all the way down, tumbling over and over as the edge of the stairs cracked her ribs with a whack!
Pilar
Gown that you wore to bed
The gown that you wear to die
Here in this foreign bed
It barely covers you
At all
In these last moments
It’s all
Lauren
Gowns are…well they’re something. It was always something, and now it’s…there. This is bad. I don’t know what to write about gowns. They rhyme with down. And they have the word NOW in them. And OWN. And…NOG? Does that mean anything? Can there be just nog? I’m done.
Zach Geiger
I have a gown for every formal I have attended in the past four years and they are all stored in plastic dry cleaning bags in a climate controlled storage unit in the basement of my apartment building and I know I will never wear any of them again.
flowing. flowing. Flowing like dust in the wind, flowing lie the softest garment you can think of, cascading over a beautiful womans slender waist. The soft skin accented over the white light as the heavily white light flows over her skin.
“Cut! Cut!”
a large plump man waddled from behind the camera as the model covered her modesty while the camera was pulled away to aim at the large detergent logo on the wall.
I’ve never worn a gown. I’ve worn dresses, skirts, suits, sequins, sparkles, stripes, plaid, but never anything that could be termed a ‘gown.’ How boring!
DemiLa
The night swirled
about her distant gaze
like a gown
around a scrawny set of ankles.
Where she looked,
a near-stranger exhaled
the last of something warm.
She pretended
the dying rings
were a beckon.
the gown was white lace and pearls. it was long, with a train that trailed behind me like a waterfall fo satin. lace sleeves covered my shoulders, but my back was exposed except for a bow of lace. the neckline was lined in pearls, and low enough not to be considered chaste. the dress tapered at the waste, giving me an elegant figure. the entire effect was lovely. suddenly, archer burst into the room. i threw my hands over my chest, trying to hide myself. “stop!,” i gasped, “you’re not supposed to see me in the dress!” i hurried towards the dressing screen, but archer grabbed my hand, pulling me back. the look in his eyes made me warm all over as he pressed me to him.
His jaw dropped immediately as she descended the stairs in her magnificent silver sequined gown. That gown. The gown she spent hours trying to perfect… all her hours of work.. for this moment.
Emily
The gown was everything she had ever wanted. The silk was gold and sparkling, and each of the pickups had a little red bow on it. There were intricate patterns of embroidery and lace and the sleeves showed off just enough shoulder to let the imagination do the rest. Sighing, she put it back in its box and handed it to the one who would be wearing it. Others were always taking her dreams.
Liz
The back of the closet still held the baby blue gown. The one she bought two days before she forgot what it was like to feel human, to feel whole. It was covered in cellophane, a dust shroud, a shield against which she had pressed her face and inhaled as she cried. The gown was perfect, because it matched his eyes. Even now, it retained its pearly brilliance. But she did not. She had been a shadow, far earlier than anyone else, and that was her justification. But now she didn’t know what to do, because by now, everyone had lost someone.
The gown was White. Not cream, but very very White. It was Long and Beautiful and even had a nice little Train. The girls who carried the Train only had nice things to say about it. The thing was, the gown didn’t like being Long and White. What it wanted to be was Short and Red.
Yuri
“I can’t believe it!” she said to me. “You of all people tying the knott, and to a man!” I had a pretty confused childhood, young adult hood, well to put it simple a confused life. My bestfriend had been with me through it all and now she’ll be holding my flowers when I say “I do.” Cheers to me in this gown and cheers to her. Cheers always to her.
she saw the world with high contrast vision,
broken only by static and light leaks. constantly flickering
between two extremes
she was blinded-
blind, always.
only when she cried, could she see gray,
an amalgam of heart and absence.
I walked down the staircase. I was wearing the most beautiful lilac prom gown that our tiny budget could afford. In the the foyer I spot my father, who has already greeted my handsome date. I couldn’t believe this night had actually come. I’ve dreamt about prom my whole life, and now it is finally here.
I’ve been searching everywhere for the dress I’ll wear to the prom, but I just can’t find it. I’ve tried every cut, every color, and nothing is sticking out to me. I don’t know, maybe I’ll just stay home. Oh My Stars!! There it is! That’s it!! That’s the gown!
I just read that as “down,” and I thought about going down on her. I’m pretty messed up. Going down. It’s Freudian. I can’t stop thinking about her. I love being around her. I hate being in love, and I hate the fact that I really don’t want love at all, and I hate the fact that I can’t control this. But the way her breath gets heavy when I touch her keeps me coming back. This sucks.
Me
Outside my window 25 floors up I see grey. It’s December for God’s sake and I’m wearing winter clothes & long boots and getting drenched on the way to work. At my desk 25 floors up I feel grey. A long afternoon ahead and a week or so until holidays. I need to be in my dressing gown until 10 in the morning.
and she dazzles in the candle light
misty eyed
jeweled
ruby gown swirling to the floor
she looks away
and sinks back into the crowd.
with a sigh,
i turn
back to my drink.
Greer
As I waltz up the stairs, my GOWN flows behind me in my wake. I turn the corner and then i see it, The mysterious man with a gun. I look to the right and see my best friend, Luke. I say “Luke, I..”, then shots were fired. I never got to say those three words. I watch as my only love and best friend fades into the blackness known as death.
Caroline
The gown was a flowy, silver-white mist around her body, hiding her curves only barely and showing off nearly as much as it hid. There was little secret to her body, and she didn’t care. Why be ashamed of what the gods had given her?
The gown was too tight, too white and had marshmallow sleeves. However, with the aid of three friends, one sewing kit and excessive amounts of swearing, she managed to pull it together in time for the dance.
I own 1 gown
and have only worn it once
it has 1 white spot
and 1 red spot
and 1 red shawl to throw over my shoulders-in case i get cold
my first boyfriend bought it for me
to wear to the first wedding i ever went to
and it was amazing-i felt lovely
and got many compliments
never wore it after that
hasn’t had a boyfriend since
never went to a wedding after that-
but i still feel lovely-hopefully i’ll get to wear that gown again.
What a beautiful gown she’s wearing as she walks down the aisle toward her future mate. The white implies innocence, and what a lie that is – she couldn’t be innocent if her life depended on it. Harlot. But the gown – oh how I wish I could fit into it, you know? Simple, refined, and the colors are just right! I envy her ability to fit into it.
The gown was streaming down her body like a wet napkin clinging for dear life. Her thighs were exquisite within the sheer confines of the fabric, wrapped around each like a warm hug. David couldn’t take his eyes away.
She would never have worn that colour. Candy pink satin, cheap and too shiney. Her face was cold, appalled, as she lay like the last fussy chocolate that nobody wanted to unwrap.
she walked on in her gown, rather impressive given her nonchalance, she strolled barren and unmade because she had grown rather comfortable and needed not to impress a mirror. life was easy for her. relatively. her troubles were still neurotic, still unwarranted and still a mark on an otherwise beautiful woman, but that’s just the way she’ll be, I thought. could she be any other way? and didn’t I once find such a strange conflict of self quite compelling? i just wanted to see the cause behind the deprecation. she could wear her gown in front of me, but not much less. that was as intimate as it got.
Sometimes, when Lucy looked at him and smirked, and her eyes and her dress glittered, the Master almost forgot that she was just a part of the plan.
how can it be seen as this beautiful thing? It is a moment of happiness in the galactic vortex of time. It is the flare of the match, lasting only a second, before it begins to stabilize, and then burn out. We will be gone from here one day. No matter what, time still moves. As sure as 1 goes to 2, this universe will one day end.
a little to the left
I can’t barely handle the weight of it. My thoughts and my actions have covered me like a gown of deceit.
It was ragged, torn and overall disheveled. It had been dirtied with mud, snagged on twigs and shredded by thorns. Yet the girl who wore it never looked more beautiful. she had been gone so long, and seeing her again was like finding a diamond.
She looked like a goddess, waking up after a slumber. And how beautiful was this goddess? More wonderful than all of Olympus, and the wondering eyes in the crowd couldn’t comprehend the wonder of the woman beneath the gown.
Her silver silk night gown hung on her body like a cloth meant to cover a statue the night before an opening. Within her was a desire to be something greater than projected. Within her, she was both solid and flexible, shining, and slipping from her own dimensions.
she had a way of freezing time. maybe it was the way her steps were slow and graceful and easy, or maybe it was that look in her eyes. the one that told everyone in the room that she knew exactly what kind of power she had over them.
Her gown fell onto the floor, as white as snow. She looked extravagant, beautiful. Her soft pale skin, her thin, pink lips. She smiled as the guests stood to welcome her down the aisle. She flushed faintly as her father accidently stepped onto the hem of her gown. And there he was.
gown, dress, weddings, happiness, families, children, holidays, soldiers, praying, safe, home, hearts, love
“Going down,” he would say, when he first started working there. Then the doors would clatter shut and his white-gloved hand would pull the lever and, sure enough, down they would go. And then, “Going up,” from the lobby, and the counterweights would slide past and with an angelic levity the car would rise back up. This was twenty years ago, mind you, when it was that nice. But gears wind down. With a little bit of use, they don’t slide so smoothly like they used to. And soon enough, the ‘going up’ part took a little more than the ‘going down.’ Going down’s a lot easier. Just release the brakes and let the good Lord take you there. Going up requires motors and pulleys and things; complicated things that can wear down. And soon enough, the gloves weren’t so white. I mean, they were still white, but not glowing white like they were when he started. They were just a little grayer, I guess. And then they got a bit ripped, and his outfit didn’t seem to shine like it used to. And neither did he, if you know what I mean. Sometimes he wouldn’t say anything. He’d just shut the doors, and sometimes when people were still coming, and yank on that lever and shoot down the shaft and plunk to the bottom. And if he said anything, it came out a bit slurred. “Going down” was just a messed up contraction. “Go’own” he’d say, like he was talking about ladies dressing garments, or something you might wear to a really fancy soiree. And I’m sure he saw enough of those, twenty years in that place. How many people’d he take up from the lobby, from the doorman and the bellboys, up to the penthouses, them wearin’ fancy suits and dresses, their skin reakin’ like cigarettes and their breath just a little laced with martinis? And him in that goddamned outfit and gloves. Up, down. Up, down. Twenty years o’ that. And so one day he didn’t even say it. He just slammed the door, pulled off all the breaks, and went down, about as far as he could go, with a huge ruckus and commotion, all the way from the penthouses straight to the ground floor.
My gown is ripped in two.
My soul in 17.
Succulent silence is lacking in this noisy town.
Never a second of solitude and peace.
My soul in 17.
My gown painted red.
A wedding gown? On the woman of my dreams. walking down the aisle as I watch the one I’ll spend the rest of my life with, A smile ill never get sick of and future so bright it’ll never go dim.
She went downstairs to see what the noise was that woke her up. As she stepped on the second stair her gown tangled under her foot and she fell all the way down, tumbling over and over as the edge of the stairs cracked her ribs with a whack!
Gown that you wore to bed
The gown that you wear to die
Here in this foreign bed
It barely covers you
At all
In these last moments
It’s all
Gowns are…well they’re something. It was always something, and now it’s…there. This is bad. I don’t know what to write about gowns. They rhyme with down. And they have the word NOW in them. And OWN. And…NOG? Does that mean anything? Can there be just nog? I’m done.
I have a gown for every formal I have attended in the past four years and they are all stored in plastic dry cleaning bags in a climate controlled storage unit in the basement of my apartment building and I know I will never wear any of them again.
flowing. flowing. Flowing like dust in the wind, flowing lie the softest garment you can think of, cascading over a beautiful womans slender waist. The soft skin accented over the white light as the heavily white light flows over her skin.
“Cut! Cut!”
a large plump man waddled from behind the camera as the model covered her modesty while the camera was pulled away to aim at the large detergent logo on the wall.
I’ve never worn a gown. I’ve worn dresses, skirts, suits, sequins, sparkles, stripes, plaid, but never anything that could be termed a ‘gown.’ How boring!
The night swirled
about her distant gaze
like a gown
around a scrawny set of ankles.
Where she looked,
a near-stranger exhaled
the last of something warm.
She pretended
the dying rings
were a beckon.
the gown was white lace and pearls. it was long, with a train that trailed behind me like a waterfall fo satin. lace sleeves covered my shoulders, but my back was exposed except for a bow of lace. the neckline was lined in pearls, and low enough not to be considered chaste. the dress tapered at the waste, giving me an elegant figure. the entire effect was lovely. suddenly, archer burst into the room. i threw my hands over my chest, trying to hide myself. “stop!,” i gasped, “you’re not supposed to see me in the dress!” i hurried towards the dressing screen, but archer grabbed my hand, pulling me back. the look in his eyes made me warm all over as he pressed me to him.
His jaw dropped immediately as she descended the stairs in her magnificent silver sequined gown. That gown. The gown she spent hours trying to perfect… all her hours of work.. for this moment.
The gown was everything she had ever wanted. The silk was gold and sparkling, and each of the pickups had a little red bow on it. There were intricate patterns of embroidery and lace and the sleeves showed off just enough shoulder to let the imagination do the rest. Sighing, she put it back in its box and handed it to the one who would be wearing it. Others were always taking her dreams.
The back of the closet still held the baby blue gown. The one she bought two days before she forgot what it was like to feel human, to feel whole. It was covered in cellophane, a dust shroud, a shield against which she had pressed her face and inhaled as she cried. The gown was perfect, because it matched his eyes. Even now, it retained its pearly brilliance. But she did not. She had been a shadow, far earlier than anyone else, and that was her justification. But now she didn’t know what to do, because by now, everyone had lost someone.
The gown was White. Not cream, but very very White. It was Long and Beautiful and even had a nice little Train. The girls who carried the Train only had nice things to say about it. The thing was, the gown didn’t like being Long and White. What it wanted to be was Short and Red.
“I can’t believe it!” she said to me. “You of all people tying the knott, and to a man!” I had a pretty confused childhood, young adult hood, well to put it simple a confused life. My bestfriend had been with me through it all and now she’ll be holding my flowers when I say “I do.” Cheers to me in this gown and cheers to her. Cheers always to her.
she saw the world with high contrast vision,
broken only by static and light leaks. constantly flickering
between two extremes
she was blinded-
blind, always.
only when she cried, could she see gray,
an amalgam of heart and absence.
I walked down the staircase. I was wearing the most beautiful lilac prom gown that our tiny budget could afford. In the the foyer I spot my father, who has already greeted my handsome date. I couldn’t believe this night had actually come. I’ve dreamt about prom my whole life, and now it is finally here.
I’ve been searching everywhere for the dress I’ll wear to the prom, but I just can’t find it. I’ve tried every cut, every color, and nothing is sticking out to me. I don’t know, maybe I’ll just stay home. Oh My Stars!! There it is! That’s it!! That’s the gown!
I just read that as “down,” and I thought about going down on her. I’m pretty messed up. Going down. It’s Freudian. I can’t stop thinking about her. I love being around her. I hate being in love, and I hate the fact that I really don’t want love at all, and I hate the fact that I can’t control this. But the way her breath gets heavy when I touch her keeps me coming back. This sucks.
Outside my window 25 floors up I see grey. It’s December for God’s sake and I’m wearing winter clothes & long boots and getting drenched on the way to work. At my desk 25 floors up I feel grey. A long afternoon ahead and a week or so until holidays. I need to be in my dressing gown until 10 in the morning.
and she dazzles in the candle light
misty eyed
jeweled
ruby gown swirling to the floor
she looks away
and sinks back into the crowd.
with a sigh,
i turn
back to my drink.
As I waltz up the stairs, my GOWN flows behind me in my wake. I turn the corner and then i see it, The mysterious man with a gun. I look to the right and see my best friend, Luke. I say “Luke, I..”, then shots were fired. I never got to say those three words. I watch as my only love and best friend fades into the blackness known as death.
The gown was a flowy, silver-white mist around her body, hiding her curves only barely and showing off nearly as much as it hid. There was little secret to her body, and she didn’t care. Why be ashamed of what the gods had given her?
The gown was too tight, too white and had marshmallow sleeves. However, with the aid of three friends, one sewing kit and excessive amounts of swearing, she managed to pull it together in time for the dance.
I own 1 gown
and have only worn it once
it has 1 white spot
and 1 red spot
and 1 red shawl to throw over my shoulders-in case i get cold
my first boyfriend bought it for me
to wear to the first wedding i ever went to
and it was amazing-i felt lovely
and got many compliments
never wore it after that
hasn’t had a boyfriend since
never went to a wedding after that-
but i still feel lovely-hopefully i’ll get to wear that gown again.