RiteThey come to me like mothsnot for light—but for the burn..
Added 2025-05-08 23:59:06 +0000 UTCRiteThey come to me like mothsnot for light—but for the burn.My skin, a psalm of heat,hips spelling curses in slow grind,tongue like a blade baptized in red.I do not ask for worship—I command it.Kneel, not because I’m divine—but because I’m the end of your reason.A hunger with hands.A sin with a pulse.Darkness spills from my thighs,sweet and venomous.Every moan I giftetches itself into your ribs like scripture—unholy and eternal.I am the dream you shouldn't speak of,the ache you never shake.Not gentle, not safe—but holy in the ruin I leave.Let them drown in my storm,let them beg in the wreck.I don't make love—I make altars.
