FadingGrin

Ink tears and paper flowers

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hallowed ground

i. Heaven is not a place for wanderers, witch-talkers, women with words between our teeth-- we purveyors of sinister magic, we perpetrators of wicked misdeeds. we who are muck and mire and marrow, stuck hollow to the soil beneath our feet-- we whose blood bubbles thick, arcane, and dark. we with candlewick tongues. we with cauldron hearts. ii. ours are the whispers that seethe in the streets; ours are the fires and the sinkings of stones; ours the desires that brew and that breed; ours the rebellions, ours what we've sown. ours are the murmurs that churn in the dark; ours the disquiet and ours the alarms; ours the awakenings in glyph

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hallowed ground

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hallowed ground by toxic-nebulae, literature

Literature

hallowed ground

A Brush with Death by MozartsNemesis, literature

At least tomorrow, if not today. by ohsparrowsong, literature

Literature

At least tomorrow, if not today.

and i remember the day i knew you were going to try and change him. i knew you couldnt, and i think you knew that too, but your heart was so full of love and regret and i think if you didnt at least try it would have left your entire body shaking for the rest of your days. you were in the shower, and i could hear you rehearsing. i couldnt hear the word, i could just hear you swearing and mumbling and banging your fists against the bathroom tiles. i couldnt hear your words, but you sounded brave. you sounded determined and i wish i had half the guts you had. and i know now that you were too late. and i know that the vision is etched into you

ref magnets and cityscapes by wispy-blue, literature

poodle skirt by gliitchlord, literature

Royalty by vespera, literature

Literature

Royalty

When I was little, my aunt dreamed of daughters. On the weekends, she would take me, my dimples and my temper, show me flowers blooming in her garden: the ground moist, yellow pansies and sweet peas taller than my four feet. I collected garden toads, plucked one from the soil then another, and she let me place them in the old tub downstairs, its white walls inescapable. I laid there quietly, their little legs finning the water, the press of ripples pruning my skin. I was an empress in new clothes. All my subjects loved me.

Malefactum by earthy-rah, literature

another word for longing by learningtobefree, literature

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another word for longing

climbing a mountain is just an excuse for blistered feet. you emerged more beautiful than even my mother and here, i look for your lips against a bedsheet. yes, against a bedsheet. i come home to the version of you doused in oil and rosey carnation petals. you swallow the version of me royal blue and too soft, swollen. i don’t particularly know the shape of your laugh anymore but amidst the debris, i found your face. i say, that has to count for something more than blood. is your skin weathered, sunken into the skull?

A Study in Mascara by muscularteeth, literature

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A Study in Mascara

Mommy is short and thick with wide hips and a wider bosom, complemented by the way her hair cascades over her shoulders and frames her chest with dark curls both slick and wild. She has child eyes—because she is scarcely a grown-up, but I have yet to learn that—and laughs a lot, easy and loud. When I'm sad, she hugs me close and tells me that life isn't always fair but pain is important. She tells me when I'm angry to think with my head first but always trust my feelings. And most importantly, she wakes me up every morning with breakfast and tummy tickles. In August, the trees are gold, and she paints them on her big canvases tha

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