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"The light breaches like a thief of altars, baring the carto..
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 20:43:16 +0000 UTC "The light breaches like a thief of altars, baring the cartography of my defeats: here, where the south of flesh arcs into a bow of resin and shame, the foreskin lies as a wilted lily’s petal beneath an obsidian crown’s weight. It’s not manhood the lens ensnares, but the moment desire bleeds out into syringes of pharmacy and white powder. The ring —ebony cell— strangles not flesh, but the last gasp of a god who forgot his liturgy. My hands, pilgrims of an aborted rite, caress the promise of a mast that never hoisted sails. Sweat etches abstinence constellations as libido, drowned in pills, becomes a beast licking its wounds under the chemical moon of 3 a.m. What name suits this shadow-ritual? Not sex, not prayer— it’s the rust of a hymn that once roared with glory and now lies, half-creature, half-corpse, in the museum of vanquished miracles."
