Walk tall, chin up, eyes bright, and smile. It had become a routine to whip out when he hit his firm’s reception desk. He delivered his lines with perfected professional but personal swagger – ”Morning, Alice’, ‘Wassup, Derrick?’, “Hey, Jan! How was your weekend?’ and then he’d quietly slip into his office, close the door, exhale, and daydream of killing all of them.
I don’t unhinged. The unhinged person is a person out off control and don’t live good with another people. I think a unhinged person needs go to a psicologist
The girl came unhinged, as she watched her lover waltz away with someone else. That someone not being another girl, that someone was a guy. He created chaos walking away from a psychotic bitch.
You unhinged the bathroom door. You said unhinging would be better than breaking it down. After all, we were only renting that house.
I became unhinged, unglued when I watched Chris Stapleton’s music video, “Fire Away.”
I was wrecked yesterday, all day. I drove to Walmart after school let out and brought the CD. So I could listen and cry–not remembering the last time tears fell, not understanding completely why the drops fell so steadily.
And I keep flashing back to the music video, to the husband pulling his wife out of tepid bathwater.
Feeling like you treated me as a rebel-teenager, a child, I demanded privacy I didn’t even want.
We had always been close. Interlocked, like we were made for one another. It was perfect. We could be loud, strange. unapologetically so. We could be quiet, our silences long paragraphs between us. We let new people in, strangers who couldn’t possibly understand these long pauses, these meaningful glances, these whispers in the dark. He chose the strangers. Now our quips and conversations turn to a flow of snark and sarcasm. Each biting remark opening fresh wounds deeper than before. Like a door that has been slammed one too many times, we’ve become unhinged.
unhinged. My mind is coming up with so many different scenarios that I can’t only pick one of them. I’m definitely going to have to brainstorm with this one.
Smashed ceramics, toppled furniture. The sound of sirens, the color of authority. Crimson pools on the floor, following the length of a delicate, outstretched arm. A man in handcuffs sits crying on the step.
“I… Why did I do it?” he screams silently. How awful it is to come unhinged so easily.
She looked at me with that awful grin, the one I hate so much. I sprinted over to her and grabbed her jaw, pulling and pulling until that awful *Pop Pop* creeps into your ears. Her mouth hung open, unhinged, like a snake ready to kill. She’d never be able to smile now. Frightened at first, she met my eyes. Then I saw it, dragging its way through her orbits. That smile. I screamed and sat up in bed. She rolled over to me and said, “Darling, are you okay?”
Unhinged the cabinet swings slowly, creaking in the night. She cannot take that noise, that broken noise in the darkness. Everything he touches breaks. Even… It all is to much to take in. She has to rebuild it, fix it, make it right again.
Our peace is unhinged by all those stupid men who are fighting for their own sake, for money, religious nonsense or simply out of megalomania. Shame on them!
Totally unhinged. That’s what they said about him. Ha! What did they know? If speaking aloud to oneself was a clear sign of madness, he didn’t want to be sane. How else was he to keep his thoughts in order? Inside his mind things became jumbled, confused. Once spoken, they were just words, easy to consider.
The door hung loosely off of the frame, unhinged. It was broken. I didn’t care. I just left it there, like I had better things to do. Until one day, the old door got in my way and I kicked it down.
EJ Sweetly
“I’m sorry… I guess I just sorta came unhinged yesterday.”
He starred into my glassy grey eyes with an unforgiving glare.
“Okay,” I nodded, “Came unhinged every night at about this time for the past week or so.”
The next thing I knew my head was pressed to his chest and the tears seemed to melt away.
I think I might be coming unhinged. Like, not in a crazy way, the way you see in movies or hear about their weird uncle way. No, more like in a slow, burning way. Every day I wake up it feels like I’m slowly losing more and more control on life. I think I’m driving, but it’s more of a roller coaster so I just put my hands up.
Ian Goldsmith
Candy floss in hand
taking a stand all demands
left on his own
taken out to the barren zone
of lifes dark moods
swinging open without reserve
boundaries cast beyond
the shores of constraint and
hidden pleasures
Today my baby was crying and I hadn’t slept at all. I felt unhinged. I was going crazy. I had to step back and take a deep breath and than I remembered it was all worth it.
April Chappell
apart from all else
drifting but never falling
suspended in a trance
hoping for a fall or relief
drifting drifting
Astra
He couldn’t stand the sight of it– her suffering. The way she looked through him but not at him; the way her every breath hitched, every movement came with a price. He had spent a lifetime trying not to care, but now he did care. He cared deeply, and it was eating away at his mind.
I am … everything around me, about me, and within me is falling apart. Ever since — no. Can’t talk about it. Can’t think about it. If I think about it it will catch me and things will be worse than they are now.
Must keep moving. Must keep thinking. Must keep doing things fast enough, even if they’re mindless so that it doesn’t catch up to me.
The unhinged door blew in the wind. In the strange silence that followed the slamming of the door, and it falling off the hinges altogether, he thought he could see a light inside the crumbling building. A moment later, he was on his back in the desert, with no memory of how he had traveled from the depths of the wet, thick jungle to this expanse. He got up, feeling dizzy and decided no matter what the circumstances of his arrival in this wasteland, that he had to find food and water. He walked until he found a road, and eventually back to a small town in California’s Central Valley. He worked in a K-Mart, collected his paychecks, got a girlfriend and got married. One day, he saw a postcard of a jungle scene and he felt shaken by the memories of another life. He remembered the door and the window and as he replaced the postcard in the rack, wondered if he were becoming as unhinged as that door long ago and far away.
My brain feels like it’s becoming unhinged. Small pieces of me leave my mind, like I’m slowly unraveling into bare bones and skin, a shell of something that could have been – should have been much greater. I twist and turn and grab for the scrambling pieces of myself, but they slip away in the nick of time and I’m left empty handed, empty minded, alone to become a shadow.
Losing sight of him, I began to become unhinged
Hanging as if by a single fraying thread
Snip snip SNAP
Suspended in space for a single moment
Before I fall
Farther and farther from his outstretched hands
Clearing vision, and I see he reaches not for me
But for someone else
Someone I used to be
a smile so unhinged would scare a well-meaning man in a charity ball; and would frighten the pantyhoses off a whore in an alley
an unhinged smile for an unhinged mind would make advisors cough and tremble and jurors hide their fears in false glee
it’d make a mother cry and a lover hide
but a child would simply smile back and hold out a ball, with simply a request to go and play
Day by day, I felt myself become progressively unhinged. Sort of like if I were a door, and a carpenter was meticulously and painfully stripping the bolts and screws that kept me attached to a stable cerebral home. I found myself drinking more and eating less, staying up late at night and calling into work to ask if I could come in an hour or two later. For a while, my manager was okay with this because she knew I was having a hard time, but after two weeks of my shenanigans, she was losing her patience.
Belinda Roddie
Looking at him, you wouldn’t think he could change your life in a few moments. But he did. A summer day, running into camp from the woods, a canoe hoisted over his head, others helping him carry it. Dirty, grungy, unbathed for days, it seemed. Beard growing all over his face; sweat shining in the sunlight. The boys were all young and fierce looking then; hair down past their shoulders and the look of rebellion in their eyes. Hell no, they wouldn’t go to any war somewhere because a bunch of old guys said they should. He was their leader, their pastor, their joy-filled subversive; he was the one who had told them all the reasons why the government had no right to interfere in the lives of people thousands of miles and away, who didn’t want democracy or think about it or care about it at all. He was the one who told them why they should care about these things instead of their pimples and dicks and getting laid and who was better at what sport than what other team. He was dark and beautiful and frightening. Who could love a person like this? That was the summer that I became unhinged.
Walk tall, chin up, eyes bright, and smile. It had become a routine to whip out when he hit his firm’s reception desk. He delivered his lines with perfected professional but personal swagger – ”Morning, Alice’, ‘Wassup, Derrick?’, “Hey, Jan! How was your weekend?’ and then he’d quietly slip into his office, close the door, exhale, and daydream of killing all of them.
I don’t unhinged. The unhinged person is a person out off control and don’t live good with another people. I think a unhinged person needs go to a psicologist
Unhinged.. unhin…uhhhh?
the man became unhinged when his friend died.
the old door was unhinged when we walked into the burnt house
The man became unhinged when he discovered rats in his shirt drawer.
the man became unhinged when he discovered rats in his underwear drawer.
the door was unhinged from it’s hinges. :)
He was unhinged, but that only made him all the more interesting.
The girl came unhinged, as she watched her lover waltz away with someone else. That someone not being another girl, that someone was a guy. He created chaos walking away from a psychotic bitch.
You unhinged the bathroom door. You said unhinging would be better than breaking it down. After all, we were only renting that house.
I became unhinged, unglued when I watched Chris Stapleton’s music video, “Fire Away.”
I was wrecked yesterday, all day. I drove to Walmart after school let out and brought the CD. So I could listen and cry–not remembering the last time tears fell, not understanding completely why the drops fell so steadily.
And I keep flashing back to the music video, to the husband pulling his wife out of tepid bathwater.
Feeling like you treated me as a rebel-teenager, a child, I demanded privacy I didn’t even want.
We had always been close. Interlocked, like we were made for one another. It was perfect. We could be loud, strange. unapologetically so. We could be quiet, our silences long paragraphs between us. We let new people in, strangers who couldn’t possibly understand these long pauses, these meaningful glances, these whispers in the dark. He chose the strangers. Now our quips and conversations turn to a flow of snark and sarcasm. Each biting remark opening fresh wounds deeper than before. Like a door that has been slammed one too many times, we’ve become unhinged.
unhinged. My mind is coming up with so many different scenarios that I can’t only pick one of them. I’m definitely going to have to brainstorm with this one.
Smashed ceramics, toppled furniture. The sound of sirens, the color of authority. Crimson pools on the floor, following the length of a delicate, outstretched arm. A man in handcuffs sits crying on the step.
“I… Why did I do it?” he screams silently. How awful it is to come unhinged so easily.
She looked at me with that awful grin, the one I hate so much. I sprinted over to her and grabbed her jaw, pulling and pulling until that awful *Pop Pop* creeps into your ears. Her mouth hung open, unhinged, like a snake ready to kill. She’d never be able to smile now. Frightened at first, she met my eyes. Then I saw it, dragging its way through her orbits. That smile. I screamed and sat up in bed. She rolled over to me and said, “Darling, are you okay?”
I’m done. I cannot put up with this anymore. They lying, the fighting, the screaming, I’m about to end it all. I am unhinged.
I’m coming unhinged because school sucks and is seriously and genuinely pissing me off.
Aka stress
K bye
I opened my door really fast trying to run away from my brother whom I was playing tag with. It came unhinged, “Oh no!”
Unhinged the cabinet swings slowly, creaking in the night. She cannot take that noise, that broken noise in the darkness. Everything he touches breaks. Even… It all is to much to take in. She has to rebuild it, fix it, make it right again.
Our peace is unhinged by all those stupid men who are fighting for their own sake, for money, religious nonsense or simply out of megalomania. Shame on them!
I always knew my mother was unhinged.
Totally unhinged. That’s what they said about him. Ha! What did they know? If speaking aloud to oneself was a clear sign of madness, he didn’t want to be sane. How else was he to keep his thoughts in order? Inside his mind things became jumbled, confused. Once spoken, they were just words, easy to consider.
Not furnished with a hinge.
usually humorous mentally ill.(Metaphorically?)
Nothing much to say about unhinged.
I was unhinged when I was told that I had to see him again. All the effort of staying away was wasted, I felt furious.
To me to be hinged means being stuck on something, maybe, like a thought. To unhinge, would mean to get off of it.
The door hung loosely off of the frame, unhinged. It was broken. I didn’t care. I just left it there, like I had better things to do. Until one day, the old door got in my way and I kicked it down.
“I’m sorry… I guess I just sorta came unhinged yesterday.”
He starred into my glassy grey eyes with an unforgiving glare.
“Okay,” I nodded, “Came unhinged every night at about this time for the past week or so.”
The next thing I knew my head was pressed to his chest and the tears seemed to melt away.
I think I might be coming unhinged. Like, not in a crazy way, the way you see in movies or hear about their weird uncle way. No, more like in a slow, burning way. Every day I wake up it feels like I’m slowly losing more and more control on life. I think I’m driving, but it’s more of a roller coaster so I just put my hands up.
Candy floss in hand
taking a stand all demands
left on his own
taken out to the barren zone
of lifes dark moods
swinging open without reserve
boundaries cast beyond
the shores of constraint and
hidden pleasures
Today my baby was crying and I hadn’t slept at all. I felt unhinged. I was going crazy. I had to step back and take a deep breath and than I remembered it was all worth it.
apart from all else
drifting but never falling
suspended in a trance
hoping for a fall or relief
drifting drifting
He couldn’t stand the sight of it– her suffering. The way she looked through him but not at him; the way her every breath hitched, every movement came with a price. He had spent a lifetime trying not to care, but now he did care. He cared deeply, and it was eating away at his mind.
I am … everything around me, about me, and within me is falling apart. Ever since — no. Can’t talk about it. Can’t think about it. If I think about it it will catch me and things will be worse than they are now.
Must keep moving. Must keep thinking. Must keep doing things fast enough, even if they’re mindless so that it doesn’t catch up to me.
The unhinged door blew in the wind. In the strange silence that followed the slamming of the door, and it falling off the hinges altogether, he thought he could see a light inside the crumbling building. A moment later, he was on his back in the desert, with no memory of how he had traveled from the depths of the wet, thick jungle to this expanse. He got up, feeling dizzy and decided no matter what the circumstances of his arrival in this wasteland, that he had to find food and water. He walked until he found a road, and eventually back to a small town in California’s Central Valley. He worked in a K-Mart, collected his paychecks, got a girlfriend and got married. One day, he saw a postcard of a jungle scene and he felt shaken by the memories of another life. He remembered the door and the window and as he replaced the postcard in the rack, wondered if he were becoming as unhinged as that door long ago and far away.
today I got totally unhinged as my deepest an dmost meaningful aspect of lief ended.
My brain feels like it’s becoming unhinged. Small pieces of me leave my mind, like I’m slowly unraveling into bare bones and skin, a shell of something that could have been – should have been much greater. I twist and turn and grab for the scrambling pieces of myself, but they slip away in the nick of time and I’m left empty handed, empty minded, alone to become a shadow.
Losing sight of him, I began to become unhinged
Hanging as if by a single fraying thread
Snip snip SNAP
Suspended in space for a single moment
Before I fall
Farther and farther from his outstretched hands
Clearing vision, and I see he reaches not for me
But for someone else
Someone I used to be
a smile so unhinged would scare a well-meaning man in a charity ball; and would frighten the pantyhoses off a whore in an alley
an unhinged smile for an unhinged mind would make advisors cough and tremble and jurors hide their fears in false glee
it’d make a mother cry and a lover hide
but a child would simply smile back and hold out a ball, with simply a request to go and play
Day by day, I felt myself become progressively unhinged. Sort of like if I were a door, and a carpenter was meticulously and painfully stripping the bolts and screws that kept me attached to a stable cerebral home. I found myself drinking more and eating less, staying up late at night and calling into work to ask if I could come in an hour or two later. For a while, my manager was okay with this because she knew I was having a hard time, but after two weeks of my shenanigans, she was losing her patience.
Looking at him, you wouldn’t think he could change your life in a few moments. But he did. A summer day, running into camp from the woods, a canoe hoisted over his head, others helping him carry it. Dirty, grungy, unbathed for days, it seemed. Beard growing all over his face; sweat shining in the sunlight. The boys were all young and fierce looking then; hair down past their shoulders and the look of rebellion in their eyes. Hell no, they wouldn’t go to any war somewhere because a bunch of old guys said they should. He was their leader, their pastor, their joy-filled subversive; he was the one who had told them all the reasons why the government had no right to interfere in the lives of people thousands of miles and away, who didn’t want democracy or think about it or care about it at all. He was the one who told them why they should care about these things instead of their pimples and dicks and getting laid and who was better at what sport than what other team. He was dark and beautiful and frightening. Who could love a person like this? That was the summer that I became unhinged.