Mother Cain - Blog Posts
Willoughby Tucker, I’ll Always Love You
This album is going to remind me of someone ❦︎
i think ethel cain's new album is making me religious
@mothercain i pray to you to help me get over her, i am falling apart over an evil lesbian, what shall i do
omg I found @mothercain’s inspo pic!!!
Why did you guys have to scare Ethel off tumblr I need more of this
Circus
What if I broke my spine forever? My sister would come into the room to draw her portraits in charcoal, of two bulging eyes in a sea of haze grey. Each portrait is no bigger than an index card, arranged on a piece of rigid stock paper, tessellated and horribly consistent. All those dead eyes staring out at her as she renders them incapable of telling her anything. “I hate you” she would say to me, every time she would finish another. “You’ve ruined it. You’ve completely ruined it.” She would storm out the room, echoing for complete lack of furniture, and I would be left alone with them to watch over me.
I would ask you to pick me up and you would do so carefully, my limp body soft and complete. Can you carry me, lay me on the mattress in the back of the house? Or on the ground, it doesn’t make a difference to me. Sometimes I think you don’t believe I can’t feel anything and most of the time I don’t believe you can imagine what that’s like.
“Crush me” I tell you. I can only blink my eyes and move my mouth. I could probably wiggle my ears if I tried but I never feel up to it. You would gently press down on my breasts and my rib cage.
“Can you feel that?”
I slowly move my head left to right and back again.
I think about outside and what it feels like to be there. The treetops and the june-bugs and the hatred I feel for summertime. Everyone has gone on without me.
“Hit me.”
You look at me like you don’t want to but I know where your wonder hides, in the small places like a boy afraid of his own shadow.
You punch me in my side, my arm, my stomach.
“Can you feel that?”
I smile so big like I’m at the circus.
“Cut me.”
“What?”
“Cut me.”
You look down at me on the mattress. Here I am, unmoving and so horny.
“Please, baby, if I never ask anything of you ever again, just cut me.”
Wonder-boy takes his buck knife and carves a small canyon on my upper thigh. I wouldn’t know if I hadn’t watched him do it.
“Again.”
He looks me in my eyes as he separates another layer of subcutaneous. It is pink and red and yellow and blue and disgusting. I am butter and cottage cheese inside.
He stands there over me, belt unbuckled, denim undone, sweating, afraid, wonder creeping out for a closer look. His eyes are wild, so far from the fog of mine. Yet, we both want the very same thing. He removes his penis from his clothes and his clothes from his body and he slides it, hard as stone, back and forth through the gushing flesh of my upper thigh. I can’t feel a thing but I could cum just from watching. I have my own wonder too. The air in the room is hung from the ceiling unmoving like a puppet sleeping on his gallows. I am so lucky that he loves me, I am I am I am. He fucks my butchered leg like a stray dog and I cum over and over and over again watching him.
We embrace like kin in the hospital waiting room. “I am so lucky that he loves me” I think as he holds me. Despite the bright red picture I’ve painted in the white lobby tonight, they ask of me just five minutes. I don’t mind. If I don’t look, it makes no difference to me.
Everybody better know how much "I owe you a black eye and two kisses, tell me when you wanna come and get em!" Resonates with me.
i recreated this look from the god’s country mv :)
a different song. if you have any title ideas pls lmk
just something i’m working on :)
age of delilah cover :)
hayden please post the video of you building the lego set and talking about zelda !!
@mothercain
full cover of waco, texas by @mothercain
literally need this + dust bowl released NOW !!
@mothercain
waco, texas cover by me :)
i love this song so much i hope it gets released soon !!
sorry it’s glitchy. idk why
@mothercain
i am so in love with this woman it’s actually insane
@mothercain please please PLEASE release a cover of bette davis eyes on spotify. i beg!!
TONGUE COVER by me :)
@mothercain
amber waves cover by me :)
@mothercain
inbred - ethel cain cover by me
ending !!
@mothercain
Pictures in my camera roll that remind me of the song 'sun bleached flies'
(They're all outside my local church, btw)
Pictures in my camera roll that remind me of the song 'sun bleached flies'
(They're all outside my local church, btw)
MAGDALENE BRIDE
There’s guilt that I retch onto the floor, and my rotting flesh stains the chapel, seeping into the cracks more than any of my prayers ever could. I gnaw at my own ribs, scraping them to pieces. The priest has remnants of me defiling his mouth, and the stoic eyes gaping at me from the pews—painted the same white as the walls, which have long forsaken me—don’t betray their dignity. Their postures are perfect, their suits well-pressed, and their expressions unyielding. The one awaited does not show up; he has become a prayer. Instead, he turns the bend and smiles—a smile that hints at quiet encouragement.
My body hits the floor, my knees bleeding—applauses are what reverberate. The space reeks of jasmine and myrrh, and the cold bite of metal from the cross stings my skin. The communion wafers lie long forgotten, and the sacramental wine dulls with the passage of time.I witness the priest standing a few feet away, his hands trembling with hunger."Young girls have corruption in their minds," he says. The horror of Jesus, hanging limply from the crucifix, his hands bleeding where they’ve been nailed and his feet rupturing flesh, gapes at me with open eyes full of helplessness and dread. A rag—grey with time, stained with his blood that is infected with rejection—hangs at his pelvis. The wooden framework encasing his heart of impotence and throat of meekness withers and cracks in the sun, but the dews remain cold. The congregation jitters and jeers, repulses and admires, devours and purges—they merely talk.
The stained-glass windows have witnessed men and women alike, with the eyes of its saints gouged out and their presence bleached by the sun. The children sink their nails into my skin as they taunt with their smiles, the candles serving them, delighting in the play they call their game. They like their toy. The priest prays at my hips, the altar cold and unforgiving against my back. He probes and digs at my flesh, tearing at it, splitting the skin—it does not tear cleanly. It clings because it lies. It pretends to be whole. The fibers, caught in clumps, wrap around his fingers, the blood soaking into his robes. But the sinews keep winding around his nails as he sinks deeper into the pulp. I witness my gaze burdening Jesus; he trembles, but his feet remain heavy with inaction, his body slack—limp, listless, beneath the weight of his own faithless mercy. It starts slow—a tear—but then my skin stretches and squelches. The audience gasps and gapes, the children laugh, Jesus suffers the terror of ridicule, and the rosary beads are made ever more maroon with blood spooling onto them.
It’s such a precious thing to be loved.
@mothercain
ethel cain is for when you know your bad asf but like still wanna die
