“They had been permanently scarred, those lips, by something his grandmother had done to him many years before. Hearing him use the word ‘love’, Mater Motley had sewn his lips together, and left him that way, speechless and hungry, for the space of a day.”
#abarat #christophercarrion #clivebarker #art #drawing
At #SeraphimFilms with @realclivebarker ’s #Abarat tryptich & the Portrait of #ChristopherCarrion ! So incredible to see #CliveBarker ’s amazing works of art in person! Thank you @markalanmiller and @thomasnegovan for the amazing tour!
He’d seen her heart, and because of the darkness in his veins, because he doesn’t know any better, because he had nobody to teach him any better, he still wanted it. Her heart was full of rot and poison, a deadly nightshade, but he wanted it all the same.
A rotten heart was better than nothing at all, and his own was a starving wolf.
you are a girl with acid in her veins. you are a girl who wakes up in the morning to feel her blood boiling and her bones burning and finds holes in her skin where it’s singed around the edges, you are a girl with rust behind your tongue from where you broke your teeth biting through metal and you swallow red like it’s water and your thirst is unquenchable. you are a girl who tastes blood every time you smile, you are a girl with a paper heart stained blue, you are a girl with cuts across your fingertips so deep they’re almost severed from the palms of your hands and you relish it, you treasure it, you thank god for your religion-come-destruction and kiss him hard on the mouth and wait for black days to become bright nights injected with star-filled skies. you are a girl caving in on herself.
we dress in blood,
intestines wrapped around fists and
hearts tucked into waistbands;
we carry bullets in our teeth and
snap rib-cages in half to
hold the shards between our knuckles, and
our lips are stained beyond recognition -
we’ve fucked too many demons to know
the difference between right
but hell, that’s just the way we like it.
we breathe with our mouths sealed against
warm the air with our tongues and
shield our lungs from any daggers
the stars might throw at us;
we swallow ichor from our veins
and spit shooting stars from gold-edged liquor,
wear crowns built from bones
on our heads, and
wherever we go, the nightmares follow,
dragged by a rope around the neck.
we will slit your throat and devour your smile.
(run, while you still can.)
t.e. // we dress in blood and go out to kill kings (x)
“People pontificate, “Suicide is selfishness.” Career churchmen like Pater go a step further and call in a cowardly assault on the living. Oafs argue this specious line for varying reason: to evade fingers of blame, to impress one’s audience with one’s mental fiber, to vent anger, or just because one lacks the necessary suffering to sympathize. Cowardice is nothing to do with it - suicide takes considerable courage. Japanese have the right idea. No, what’s selfish is to demand another to endure an intolerable existence, just to spare families, friends, and enemies a bit of soul-searching.” - Robert Frobisher, Letters from Zedelghem
It was easy for her to fool other people into thinking that she was their ideal princess, that she was the light made flesh. But he’d spent his life in the hard embrace of the darkness, and the moonlight distorted everything under its eerie gaze, turning men into monsters and witches into princesses.
She is moonlight.
Carrion was not fooled.
we bite our thumbs and cross our legs and hide secrets under our skirts like they’re fingerprints, bruised and pressed between between nail-tracks trailed from ankle to thigh, bite marks bordering our hips in cherry-pink.
“Christopher Carrion is intimidating, Christopher Carrion is frightening, but, as you very well know, behind closed doors, Christopher Carrion is sad and alone and Christopher Carrion wants very much to be redeemed, he just doesn’t know how to be redeemed.”