instagram: @emfernandesart The chain was a prayer.
A dying hymn in iron.
A lie sung in loops—
and now,
it hangs like a sanctified restraint,
slick with rot. The gate is a ruin.
A mouth once sworn shut
now gapes wide,
drooling rust and bone. They built it holy.
They said this will hold the unclean.
They called it salvation. But I was not the infection.
I was the reckoning. And the sacred could not stop me. The saints turned inward.
The altar cracked in fear.
The scripture

instagram: @emfernandesart She returned—not for reconciliation, but for the residue of desecration. Not to restore, but to taste what festered.

instagram: @emfernandesart Whispers in perfume. Rot beneath velvet. A name that slithered past teeth and called itself holy. But there...

instagram: @emfernandesart There comes a point when the noise drowns out . The connections, the judgments, the eyes that once scrutinized...