Nullflower

instagram: @emfernandesart

She came for me—

not with prayer, but with a bite.

Lips slick with sin,

tongue tasting holy ruin.

Her breath was fire and frost,

a wicked hymn wrapped in flesh.

Fingers like thorns, tracing my skin,

writing curses in my veins.

She whispered no salvation—

only promises soaked in sweat,

a hunger that shivered

beneath the ribs of godless nights.

Her touch was a blasphemy—

soft, sharp, unbearable.

She drank my trembling heat,

then fed on the silence after.

I was her altar,

her desecrated sanctum,

where lust and damnation

collided in a brutal bloom.