Vicie Ree aka Auntie_Social
@vicieree.bsky.social
#vss365
A painting lives on the wall
it has lived here longer than I
It goes unnoticed
like a clock
with dead batteries
But today
the sun oversteps
pushing in uninvited
through a narrow seam
a ray of blind illumination
“Look” it commands
Rothko’s landscape
A #touch of blue
on an abstract horizon
A painting lives on the wall
it has lived here longer than I
It goes unnoticed
like a clock
with dead batteries
But today
the sun oversteps
pushing in uninvited
through a narrow seam
a ray of blind illumination
“Look” it commands
Rothko’s landscape
A #touch of blue
on an abstract horizon
February 11, 2026 at 8:12 PM
#vss365
Lucia’s Diary
#ThousandYearOldVampire
I woke this morning in pain.
Blood-tears pooled in my eyes. I searched for a wound, pressed my hand to my chest, wondering if love had broken my curse and returned my beating heart.
But alas—there is only #ache. No heartbeat.
I am not human.
Lucia’s Diary
#ThousandYearOldVampire
I woke this morning in pain.
Blood-tears pooled in my eyes. I searched for a wound, pressed my hand to my chest, wondering if love had broken my curse and returned my beating heart.
But alas—there is only #ache. No heartbeat.
I am not human.
February 10, 2026 at 7:24 PM
#vss365
Lucia’s Diary
#ThousandYearOldVampire
I woke this morning in pain.
Blood-tears pooled in my eyes. I searched for a wound, pressed my hand to my chest, wondering if love had broken my curse and returned my beating heart.
But alas—there is only #ache. No heartbeat.
I am not human.
Lucia’s Diary
#ThousandYearOldVampire
I woke this morning in pain.
Blood-tears pooled in my eyes. I searched for a wound, pressed my hand to my chest, wondering if love had broken my curse and returned my beating heart.
But alas—there is only #ache. No heartbeat.
I am not human.
#vss365
Master Paul Feininger reminded me of an ivory-carved statue: chiseled features, #pale skin, cold and immaculate. He carried himself as an aristocrat, living always at the leisure of others.
Excerpt from my #ThousandYearOldVampire journal entry, The Immortal Who Turned Me.
Master Paul Feininger reminded me of an ivory-carved statue: chiseled features, #pale skin, cold and immaculate. He carried himself as an aristocrat, living always at the leisure of others.
Excerpt from my #ThousandYearOldVampire journal entry, The Immortal Who Turned Me.
February 8, 2026 at 9:56 PM
#vss365
Master Paul Feininger reminded me of an ivory-carved statue: chiseled features, #pale skin, cold and immaculate. He carried himself as an aristocrat, living always at the leisure of others.
Excerpt from my #ThousandYearOldVampire journal entry, The Immortal Who Turned Me.
Master Paul Feininger reminded me of an ivory-carved statue: chiseled features, #pale skin, cold and immaculate. He carried himself as an aristocrat, living always at the leisure of others.
Excerpt from my #ThousandYearOldVampire journal entry, The Immortal Who Turned Me.
#vss365
I could smell him. His scent was sin and lust, and in his eyes was a thirst not unlike my own—but I knew it was not for my #blood.
“Brother, don’t you see? I'm your Little Lucia. I'm of your blood. Your flesh.”
I smiled, my teeth betraying my true nature. I went for his jugular.
I could smell him. His scent was sin and lust, and in his eyes was a thirst not unlike my own—but I knew it was not for my #blood.
“Brother, don’t you see? I'm your Little Lucia. I'm of your blood. Your flesh.”
I smiled, my teeth betraying my true nature. I went for his jugular.
February 7, 2026 at 5:06 PM
#vss365
We were praying
before the attack
I was in shock
My sister snaked her arm around mine
Her fingers #wound tight
biting my skin
as if she could stop the venom from reaching my heart
The poison was already in my blood
In all our DNA
in words that could never be unsaid
as daddy lay in repose
We were praying
before the attack
I was in shock
My sister snaked her arm around mine
Her fingers #wound tight
biting my skin
as if she could stop the venom from reaching my heart
The poison was already in my blood
In all our DNA
in words that could never be unsaid
as daddy lay in repose
February 6, 2026 at 7:46 PM
February 4, 2026 at 7:49 PM
#vss365
Yesterday, your #pain saw its shadow—
six more weeks, you said.
Six more weeks holding our breath,
winter’s judge postponing spring.
Six more weeks weathering moods,
waiting for a break, waiting for a verdict.
Six more weeks until we learn
a stranger’s definition of family.
Yesterday, your #pain saw its shadow—
six more weeks, you said.
Six more weeks holding our breath,
winter’s judge postponing spring.
Six more weeks weathering moods,
waiting for a break, waiting for a verdict.
Six more weeks until we learn
a stranger’s definition of family.
February 3, 2026 at 3:10 PM
#vss365
Mama is
the one
I run to when
my brother hurts me.
“That’s what you get,” she says.
“Leave him alone.”
Mama is
the one
I turn to when
my husband cheats.
“That’s what men do,” she advises.
“You best stay.”
Mama is
the one
I want when
I need comfort.
But Mama is
the one
I need to #soothe.
Mama is
the one
I run to when
my brother hurts me.
“That’s what you get,” she says.
“Leave him alone.”
Mama is
the one
I turn to when
my husband cheats.
“That’s what men do,” she advises.
“You best stay.”
Mama is
the one
I want when
I need comfort.
But Mama is
the one
I need to #soothe.
January 31, 2026 at 4:43 PM
#vss365
It was a habit—
fingers always fiddling,
nervous.
tap tap tap,
thrum thrum #thrum,
tap tap tap.
Her brief pause
exposes nails
eaten to the quick.
And again—
the distressful rhythm,
her SOS rhythm
of…
It was a habit—
fingers always fiddling,
nervous.
tap tap tap,
thrum thrum #thrum,
tap tap tap.
Her brief pause
exposes nails
eaten to the quick.
And again—
the distressful rhythm,
her SOS rhythm
of…
a white background with the letters sos and a blue line
ALT: a white background with the letters sos and a blue line
media.tenor.com
January 30, 2026 at 10:57 PM
#vss365
I hide the glue
that holds leaves quivering in place,
I outline in silver
the puffs of grey that billow in the blue.
These stories I write—
about trees
or clouds—
#obfuscate the ugly bits
of my broken life.
I hide the glue
that holds leaves quivering in place,
I outline in silver
the puffs of grey that billow in the blue.
These stories I write—
about trees
or clouds—
#obfuscate the ugly bits
of my broken life.
January 29, 2026 at 10:25 PM
#vss365
I hide the glue
that holds leaves quivering in place,
I outline in silver
the puffs of grey that billow in the blue.
These stories I write—
about trees
or clouds—
#obfuscate the ugly bits
of my broken life.
I hide the glue
that holds leaves quivering in place,
I outline in silver
the puffs of grey that billow in the blue.
These stories I write—
about trees
or clouds—
#obfuscate the ugly bits
of my broken life.
#vss365
I pluck my pen
an arrow from its #quiver
and release
words sharp
meant to wound
Hurt people, hurt people
Our heartstrings severed,
who hurt who?
I write
confessions, unintelligible,
memories, full of doubt
Sacrificed pages,
crumpled, burned.
Ritual
I cannot change you.
But I can change.
I pluck my pen
an arrow from its #quiver
and release
words sharp
meant to wound
Hurt people, hurt people
Our heartstrings severed,
who hurt who?
I write
confessions, unintelligible,
memories, full of doubt
Sacrificed pages,
crumpled, burned.
Ritual
I cannot change you.
But I can change.
January 28, 2026 at 8:42 PM
#vss365
We are fighting for air;
there is none.
In this liminal space of
equality
This #cusp of everyone’s rights.
Everyone is right
Everyone is right
We push to the edge
We are pushed to the brink
There's no room to breathe
I cannot breathe
Our foundation
is crumbling
crumbling
I'm afraid to fall.
We are fighting for air;
there is none.
In this liminal space of
equality
This #cusp of everyone’s rights.
Everyone is right
Everyone is right
We push to the edge
We are pushed to the brink
There's no room to breathe
I cannot breathe
Our foundation
is crumbling
crumbling
I'm afraid to fall.
January 26, 2026 at 10:49 PM
#vss365
Children
ride without maps
without brakes
buckled in
never braced
for bumpy rides
We are of age
call “shotgun,”
sit in the passenger seat
learning to navigate
sharp turns in conversation
As adults, we choose
where our mind goes
some ramble or drift
but we #veer our thoughts
to steer clear
Children
ride without maps
without brakes
buckled in
never braced
for bumpy rides
We are of age
call “shotgun,”
sit in the passenger seat
learning to navigate
sharp turns in conversation
As adults, we choose
where our mind goes
some ramble or drift
but we #veer our thoughts
to steer clear
January 19, 2026 at 11:21 PM