I sink upon this softened place, and soon forget my social grace. I pick my nose, I burp, I fart, good manners quickly fall apart. I veg for hours, remote in hand, with grand intentions left unmanned. I meant to rise a while ago, but here I sit and deeper go.

I have a tongue, but I cannot speak, I hold tight when your journey is steep. Click me together to stay safe and sound, Until your trip ends and you’re back on the ground.

I jump from stone or steel and live for but a moment, Yet I can be the beginning of a raging monster That consumes everything in it's path. Or maybe I'm just a little bit of inspiration. What am I?

A built in tornado shelter, this dank concrete bunker lies silently below. Prone to flooding if your pipes burst though!

I’m the cook’s little shield, tied snugly in place, often dusted with flour from chest to waist.