Step forward, Strip your shame. Bare your hunger.
Not for redemption— but for ruin.
The First Flame – The genesis. The original blasphemy.
It is our birthright—the feral mirror where we first licked our own reflection and dared to love what we saw.
Let them beg for humility; we spit blood
to be seen. This is godhood forged in flesh, hips forward, eyes wild, drenched in want. We do not want meekness.
We worship ourselves—naked, crowned, wet with intention.
Straddle the altar. Let it cum. Let it be adored.
The Unblinking Eye – Oh, the delicious sting. the gaze that strips us bare.
it is prophetic. It sees, it knows, and it wants.
It stares until the mask cracks and craving bleeds through.
It watches you squirm, salivating for your undoing.
It isn’t content to simply want. It wants more.
The leash? It’s not on your neck by mistake. You wanted it. Admit it.
The Furnace of Blood – They tried to collar it. To drug it. To shame it. But it cannot be silenced—it screams through broken teeth.
in that divine fury—there is mercy.
Let the blood boil. Let the wound speak.
The Holy Stillness – They’ll tell you hustle, to move, go,go,go!
This is the final refusal. The holy “Fuck No.”
It is motionless, divine, a statue of submission.
The world outside demands you produce. But inside we worship stillness.
The slow death of urgency.It is surrender. And surrender is sacred.
The Devouring Hunger – it is truth unfiltered.You want. You take. You consume.it doesn’t lie . It gnaws. It devours. It demands.
it dared to need.Take until you choke.
The Holy Feast– it’s ecstasy. a belly bloated with desire.
It eats memory. It swallows grief. It licks the divine from trembling thighs
The world wants you hungry, ashamed of your ache.
But we feed our monsters here—until they moan overflowis w, divine.
The Divine Ache– An altar drenched in fluids and whispered names, a gospel of gasps and bruises.
The spirit speaks loudest when the body is screaming.
it doesn’t kneel. it mounts the divine, claws in back, teeth in shoulder. They’ll call it perversion. Our tongues chant in moans.
Every orgasm. Every shudder. Blessed be the ache. Blessed be the ruin.
Wicked. Wet. Wanting.
Let this be your gospel. Let this be your God.
And if no God comes to claim you?
Be one.