Voidthirst

instagram: @emfernandesart

She returned—not for reconciliation,

but for the residue of desecration.

Not to restore,

but to taste what festered.

Her silence fermented.

Scripture coagulated in her chest.

Only collapse nourished her.

No altar disintegrated with such grace.

The breach endures:

a mnemonic fissure,

a suppurating seam,

a lumen of profaned glow.

She names it elsewhere—

an unhosted eucharist,

a tongue stripped of prayer,

a psalm set ablaze.

Not exalted,

but riven.

Not absolved,

but mired in decay.

She imbibes putrefaction.

Genuflects before fracture.

Her voice, anointed in blasphemy,

pours from a chalice fractured by sin.

The visage she relinquished?

Ruin incarnate.

An unauthorised glyph,

a relic passed from heretic to heretic,

a flavour of erasure.

She offers no devotion.

She consumes the abyss.

Every invocation of her name

dismantles scripture:

a breath preluding cataclysm,

a silence seared.

Myth atrophies.

She persists.

She remains— a revenant incised in transgression,

a reliquary of rot, still animate.

Still baptized in filth.

Still void-hungry.

Still unblessed.