dollsgravee

[dollsgravee]

sigh sigh

[dollsgravee]

i hate himmmmm i hate himmmmm but i want him so bad #help

[dollsgravee]

Apologies to Juliet

My lover's lover lives inside of me.

She eats away at my heart,

her sharp teeth piercing at my skin.

Like a rabid dog in the dark,

she feasts at my marrow,

the poison running through my veins.

Screams tear apart my soul,

washing me away.

I hear her in every room,

soft pleas of despair.

I beg Jimmy to take me away.

They say I’m run with madness,

stricken with guilt.

Juliet, God, Juliet,

I am sorry.

I did the deed,

I must pay for the sin.

My lover's lover,

haunted by invisible ghosts.

“Juliet is no longer here,” Jimmy insists.

He is wrong.

She is in every corner of this home,

which is not mine,

This bed I warm is not mine.

And my lovely Jimmy,

whom I stole.

My lover's lover wants me dead.

Lord, I think she’s coming for me.

[dollsgravee]

Gillian Flynn, from Sharp Objects

[dollsgravee]

you look good with blood on you what are your pronouns

[dollsgravee]

#sofuckingsick

pretending to be human is so exhausting

[dollsgravee]

Do you think white trash is an offensive term

no it's accurate asf

[dollsgravee]

a rewrite of the infamous poem “hap” by thomas hardy ( this was done for a class assignment)

If the lord would whisper to me,

From his throne of bones and grin: “Pitiful goat,

Sinful and twisted, you carry with you filth and debris,

Those tears you weep will do you no good, but to choke”

Then I would let my grievances die,

Swallowed them whole; sickening and sour,

Comforted by the lord and his angry cry,

For he is who he is, drowning in power.

But not so. The angels do not exist,

Sheer silence sinking my wishes,

The curse of doom stains me with a kiss,

And the ticking of the clock, hisses,

Leaving me weeping as the pain persists,

For this is what my final sin is.

[dollsgravee]

[dollsgravee]

an excerpt from a wip of mine, just jotting some stuff down lolz hoping the workshop this into something better:

He was the local gas station cashier, at the corner of the road. A mere 2 miles from the abandoned home. I was all bruised up, with knobby knees, and in cut-up clothes. I haven’t touched water in a week and it showed with my matty hair and the dirt collecting underneath my nails. I have truly become a feral child and those who once greeted me with pity began to look at me with contempt. As if I was a parasite just sucking the energy out of the world. With 20 cents in my pockets and a pistol that once belonged to Daddy, I walked in. His eyes traveled to me at the sound of the doorbell clinging as I timidly stepped around the store. I could sense him watching my every step. I ignored it as I pretended to check the chip bags, one hand in my pocket. I never used a pistol before but Daddy used to shoot with it all the time. He told me it was all about inflicting pain on your target, the determination to put something out of its misery. He was wise like that, always saying something that made me want to become more like him.

“Is there something I can help you with?” The cashier was suddenly behind me, leaning against the shelf.

I took my hand out of my pocket, hiding it behind me as I backed up a bit from him. My eyes were probably wide, and guilt was written all over. I was easy to read like that, Mama used to tell me I was the worst liar in the world. I would get all blue and sick in the face.

He looked to be the same age as me, with sandy brown hair that fell down to his forehead and a gap between his teeth as he smiled at me warmly. No, that wasn’t it. It wasn’t warmth he was looking at me with, more like amusement with a mix of curiosity. He wasn’t ugly nor handsome, just a face amongst the crowd. He continued to stare at me with his brown eyes which made me sick to my stomach before taking a step closer to me.

“I've never seen you around here before.” He commented as if he knew everyone who lived there. Perhaps he did, and maybe I was caught. “Where you from, girl?”

[dollsgravee]

Dolly Dolly Dolly, pretty Dolly

[dollsgravee]

writing---

hi hi! im trying to be more active on this acc and start publishing my writing more! so I would love to find some mutuals on here(≧ω≦)!

uhhh a few things abt me : i really love ethel cain, nicole dollanganger, southern gothic aesthetic and writing ofc! i am open to all sorts of criticism on my writing because I am striving to get better o(>ω<)o

[dollsgravee]

[dollsgravee]

[dollsgravee]

a lil something ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

hi! recently ive started doing a little writing and wanted to come on here and share it for some feedback!! this is just a little intro to a story I've been workshopping for a bit >-<. it has some ethel cain references (cause I looooooove her!! ) idk if its good...so please all criticism is NEEDED! so yes i want feedback! ahem enough said below is the intro:

My mama kneaded the dough, underneath the sunlight, she seemed younger, full of life. I watched her from the crack in the door, always peeking, always wanting to be near. I was constantly captivated by her, an unseen observer, always yearning to be by her side. I can not recall when I became a parasite, sucking on the back of my mama's leg to stay warm. From the start, I was dealt bad cards, and fate ultimately screwed me over. 

A broken-down home in the middle of nowhere is all I’ve ever known. Daddy’s been comatose, lying on the bed. Mama forbade me from entering the room, and she barely goes in it herself. I would never say this out loud to Mama, but I have started to suspect that he’s dead. Something has started to smell rotten from that room and I fear that it will clog up , overtaking our every scent and soon even Mama won’t be able to deny the malevolent smell that will become etched into our home.  The nights get cold, but despite this, she would sleep with her back turned to me. Yet I would still cling to her like a leech, my limbs wrapped around her. In the daytime she doesn’t speak, choosing to spend her time sitting on the big chair that was once Daddy’s. The armchair is frayed and the fabric is long faded. She sits there and stares off into the distance, a look in her eyes tells me that she is far gone. I watch her. I watch as she cries, and she slowly withers away from me. I don't ever blame her for loving me the way she did while her heart was being ripped apart. Or if she loved me at all.  Silently I exist. Words have not been uttered in a while and I continue to wonder how much longer we will live this feral lifestyle. Will I ever get out of this cycle? I wonder most days. I sit on the floor and think. I never weep though, mama already does enough of that for the both of us. Instead, I dream. I dream of being placed on the back of a white horse and whisked away. To a place where the people are kinder, Mama won’t have to cry anymore.  I thought good guys were the ones who got happy endings. Am I no good? I feel as if I am not, for I am incredibly unhappy. I am poison in the water, spreading. The bane of Mama’s pain. She never says but I can tell by the way she doesn’t look at me or spare me a moment of her day. 

Daddy used to be a man of faith, attending church every Sunday. He would take me with him, and sit me down on the seat next to him. I would watch as he closed his eyes and his eyebrows would furrow every so slightly as the Preacher began his sermon. I still remember the words from that church that day, and even now they spin through my mind: a mother is a very special thing, other than lord jesus christ. a mother is one of the best gifts that god could give to the world. The Preachers never left me after that day, and I assume that is why I am still clinging to Mama after all this time. Daddy would murmur words throughout the Preacher's speech. I never asked him what he was praying for him….and I guess I’ll never know. I took after his habits and used to pray for him to get better, and for Mama to love me again. I would shut my eyes tight, and whisper prayers but I started to realize all I was hearing back was the echo of my desperate cries. Does God not care for me? Or were my words tainted? The sins of my parents, and the sins of theirs being marked on me, making God abandon me. 

After church Daddy used to play a game with me, hiding me under the leaves. He would leave for a while and I would have to stay concealed until he comes back. The roughness of the leaves is still inscribed into my skin and the smell of them is forever on my clothes. Some days, he would leave me there for a while, and yet I would never emerge from the leaves. I would lay covered and still. I never knew why Daddy did that, and where he went while I was hidden. Mama never came looking for me even if I was gone for days. Even if Daddy left me there for that long of a period, he still came back every time. Even now years later I find myself hiding myself under the leaves, the scent bringing me comfort. 

I would like to remember Daddy in his fondest moments and cling to Mama even in her worst. Although I know Daddy wasn’t the hero in my story. I think I will still forever be a little girl needing him, waiting for him to allow her to get up from the leaves. Or the little girl leeching onto her Mama. 

Mama no longer wants me. This I know. I have been thrown off to the side but I will continue to crawl back to her for she is all I got. She is all I have in this small shack; it is my entire world. Bloodied and beaten from her kicks I will still grasp onto her leg. Even if I die doing it. 

[dollsgravee]

missing mothers tumblr

shot by @silkenweinberg

[dollsgravee]

07.04 ♡