݁˖Vivie

`We said tomorrow will be different. Today would be the last day. The last one. The last one and then another.` 𖦹 I love that stupid horse

[viviemortis]

absurdist pilled and poetmaxxed

⋆♞. Vivie/Vivienne - she/her or they/them, aroace, mortician in the works ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

I like medieval unicorns, old art, the game with the mouthwashes and the horse, spooky shit, things, weird literature and art, and ridiculous ties

DNI - basic criteria, -13, any sort of zionism/nazism I won't put up with much of anything; I will freely block!

check here for more nonsense

[viviemortis]

itching for another tattoo…

i opened a little poll for those who care/follow me, but my poor indecisive butt can’t pick one thing for the life of me 😭

this will be a stick n poke, most likely on my hip or upper thigh. don’t worry! i’m not a professional. BUT, i have professional supplies, some experience from a professional and direct relations to a professional.

i’ve got a unicorn in the works/plans/whatever with said professional, but it’ll be a minute before we get that one started

anywhosies… options, options!

whom shall i do…

black rabbit of inlé (watership down, 78’)

polle ?? some sorta symbolistic horse bullshit

little poppies

other? (recs?)

Remaining time: 6 days 16 hours

(the colors i currently have are black and red + i have a wide variety of needles (FOR TATTOOING))

p.s. this is just to kinda boost my interest in what i’m doing, i’m sure to change my thoughts in (less than) a month, but who knows! anything is appreciated though ~^^~

ok bye folks

[viviemortis]

Safety first!

polle doodle :)

poorly cropped because i’m ashamed i spelt safety wrong… somehow???

here’s the full thing…ignore it…pleas…e..sob….

[viviemortis]

A collection of older poetry

from late last year a further, some works are published

most of it is personal, i like to use poetry as an outlet to talk about my emotions, cause it feels a lot less pathetic

He/You

Pull me under so that I may breathe your soul and drown in what’s left of us

Tear into me so that I may understand truly

the love you’ve held for me

Paint your walls with my color, for you have not left me since the day I left you

I see you in a mind that cannot see, in picture-less films we call dreams 

This isn’t about you, it’s about me.

It’s about me and a you that is better than what you have and what you were

Because this you was never you to begin with 

His face is sweeter and well defined, soft and quiet; much more kind

He’s not even you to think of it, but he’s not even real, so only I will think of it

It being a man with no face to replace a boy in such a space to have his face disgraced 

All to be encased, in a place like space: within my own face.

———————————————————————

Leopard Prints

i catch a glimpse of myself in a through my mirror’s reflection 

a clone, brittle and cicatriz patterns like a leopard

in a way it could be beautiful, but of course, there’s got to be correction;

why, my patterns aren’t as beautiful, but i can’t be rid of them 

a vessel i so desperately need to fix, i cannot live with this obsolete perfection

because there’s a cause, to everything, forever, and it’s never my favorite 

to reflect on a reflection, to savor it

i wish to throw a stone to destroy and forget about it

why, these leopard prints could look like handprints

why, this body is so strange and pernicious.

why, i can’t take that next step, and run away to my own jungle, 

why i am stuck in this bathroom, waiting for my shower to warm up.

why, it hurts to reflect.

why, i have these leopard prints.

———————————————————————

Little Yellow Bird

A little yellow angel;

You wheel around my coffin

Knowing damn well 

That we’ll be sharing it. I’ll go silent for death

By the time I’m done

But, It’s probably too late

So, try to think for yourself:

Did you kiss your wife,

and daughter goodbye?

Will your name be chiseled in stone? Is the money you’re mining worth it?

Or is all this coal just a joke?

Are you choking on your air? 

Will the pigs squeal when they find out?

Can you see where you are?

Or will they waddle their feet and laugh?

A little yellow knight;

Disposable life lies in my claws.

Soot-covered soldiers,

Descending into their war. 

(it’s a losing battle)

A death sentence disguised as work;

You could call it hell.

But this is your job.

And this is your earth.

I’ll flap my wings,

Pretend something's wrong,

Havoc aroused,

scrambling, tumbling, screaming 

Or I could act like i’m fine

Push through to sing;

A silence as loud as death

screaming into nothingness.

A little yellow martyr;

Neither rebel, nor revolution.

Simply a messenger,

To preach about the wrong 

Of your ‘human’ ways.

You and your men are tired,

Rest, but don’t get fired.

Your pain is only temporary;

The infirmary is full again, sir. 

Come again later?

Whose the pig in the fine white satin?

You look up to him, don’t you?

Does he know your name? Do you his?

How much money does he make? Is he married? Is he decent?

He’ll sit high in his empty palace,

While you rot, just because you live.

A little yellow death,

That means danger,

Am I correct?

And when that danger comes.

You’ve gotta run.

But, it’s getting cold, isn't it?

When they set me free,

I’ll sing outside,

Watch you work, watch you die.

Then soon they’d set me free

And let me be

And see how great it is to be free.

How easier it is to be me.

How you’ll never really know,

what it’s like to be me.

———————————————————————

Hunt

Broken. 

Impaled by lead, 

Shot from guns.

Chased by dogs,

Who tear at our legs.

With what remains, 

Is thrown to wolves. 

Who tear us apart,

And eat at our rot.

Self-proclaimed hunter,

Should we even call you that

You don’t even want us,

You just want to hunt us.

We serve no other purpose,

Than to breed.

To consume. 

To feed. 

To die. 

So we hang up on your walls,

Where you can point and laugh,

And gawk and boast.

Our skin is worn, 

Our branches are trophies, 

Our flesh is wasted.

Our bodies are toys.

Oh, self-proclaimed hunter,

You’re killing for the thrill.

For sport we are game,

For the pleasure of man,

To trap and snare,

From fawn to buck.

when we’re all dead,

who will be the one 

to bring you fun;

cause hunts not the same

without the deer.

Oh, self-proclaimed hunter,

We are dead to be dead,

We are dying just to die,

We are broken for your fun.

We serve no other purpose,

Than to breed.

To consume. To feed.

To die. 

Oh, self-proclaimed hunter,

You’re killing just to kill.

———————————————————————

i know my work is kind of hard to read sometimes, it’s all edgy and nonsensical to some, but i like to share my work. thank you.

<3

[viviemortis]

Excedrin

every day i take one; extra strength

x-rays have been denied 

cause the hospital’s full

every day i have one; extra sometimes

decisions i’ll later regret, the 

reality of taking an NSAID every day

isn’t really helping my chronic,

neurological condition 

[viviemortis]

The comedy is that the girl can only write tragedy

[the-big-mood]

its NOT a phase

[viviemortis]

son who’s going places

[viviemortis]

more….

[theloverislost]

as we are rapidly approaching pride month, here’s an obligatory reminder!

AROMANTIC PEOPLE

ASEXUAL PEOPLE

AND AROACE PEOPLE

ALL BELONG IN THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY

I WILL REMOVE EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY IF YOU SAY OTHERWISE

[viviemortis]

thinking out loud, inwardly

braced; bare, brisk, born

you crawl from a wet cave

bleeding; burnt, buried, broken

peeling away from your roots

sprouting furs and feathers and scales

tongues, teeth, eyes, a brain

every string and bead strumming together 

humming, inconsistently, 

an equilibrium of rot and growth

birth and death, unending

but it all crashes together again 

and you wake up again 

in a dry bed

wrapped in cloth

oh, so afraid

[viviemortis]

there’s something so beautiful about cutting off your hair

the only ever time i had short hair, i was going through something rough

from then, i associated short hair with a bad experience

but now, with barely an inch in the back, and a fucked up chelsea cut

with my fading hair dye and thin brows

i feel like i’ve grown a pair of wings

i’ve let myself feel beautiful with short hair

i feel more like the person i want to be

i feel good.

[pictochattulpar]

Due to recent "ai art trends" going around I'm going to proudly state that this blog is anti AI and anti AI data centers.

[viviemortis]

son who’s going places

[j4ssers]

Took wayyyyyy too long

Lowkey kinda disappointed with the low quality of the second page 😞🫠 but im happy I finished it :D

[trouserbrowserart]

Nadiya Mouthwashing

Nadiya, née Надежда (Nadezhda), was born in Voronezh, Russia, on the 1st of May, 2007.

After 5 months of rigorous training, Nadiya's first space mission was scheduled for the 14th of September, 2007.

She was sent to space in a satellite, sealed inside a container on board, and returned home on the 26th that same month. Back on Earth, Nadiya gave birth to 33 beautiful baby bugs (fortunately, none fathered by Jimmy).

Pony Express hired Nadiya as a janitor 6 months later, thus beginning her career as the most succesful cockroach in space - an accolade that has a shocking amount of competition - and she became a beloved member of the Tulpar.

Here's what each crew member had to say about Nadiya:

Captain Curly: "I had a dream we were laying under a sea of stars, and she whispered something incomprehensibly beautiful to me just before the red sun rose and scorched the Earth - then I woke up. Turns out, it was Jimmy talking in his sleep. Something about 'that damn horse'"

Jimmy: "Nadiya knows all my secrets :)"

Anya: "It's nice to have another woman on board, even if she is 1 inch tall"

Swansea: "Not the worst bug I know"

Daisuke: "Why is there a cockroach wearing a suit in the vents? This I gotta see!"

Post-crash, Nadiya fed on mouthwash and 'birthday cake' until she and Curly were rescued 18 years later. The two survivors remain best buds to this day.

[blumingtoadstool]

Hey mouthwashing peeps.

Y’know how Anya stole and hid the gun when she realized she was pregnant? Straight up refused to tell Curly where it was bc she didn’t want Jimmy to know where it was and get a hold of it if/when he found out?

Remember how Jimmy stormed out of the med bay when Anya told him and Curly went to find him?

Remember where Curly found him?

He was outside of the cockpit doors.

He was either on his way to the utility cabinet to get the gun or already searched it and was about to go look for it when Curly found him.

So he knew the gun was gone and that Swansea had the axe, meaning the only two weapons on the ship were out of his reach.

He crashed the ship *after* he realized he couldn’t just kill Anya, he had to kill the whole crew. We know he crashed the ship so he wouldn’t deal with the repercussions of his actions, but holy shit.

Anya was scared he’d go ballistic and she was fucking right.

[viviemortis]

Crew portraits 2/2 + Polle

this was fun