To become whole is to gnaw at your own ribs,
to sip the iron bloom that midnigth gives.
Hunger coils in me, serpent of heat,
circling liver and sternum in its steady beat.
Manipura whispers: consume, scorch, devour,
let flesh and marrow fade by the hour,
blood to ember, ember to flame,
my stomach an altar, my hands without shame.
I carve my devotion in shuddering lines,
each cut a hymn where my pulse resigns.
Each swallow a vow, a whispered creed,
the taste of myself the only I heed.
Every fold becomes a sacred rite,
heart and liver trembling bright,
a holy feast that bleeds within,
a wounded prayer dressed in skin.
I bite through the mirror of my own face,
salt on my tongue like a lover’s trace,
I press my teeth to the curve of my arm,
to throat, to thigh, a altar of harm.
Bones crack open under desire,
vertebrae clicking like bones in pyre,
I drink the blood of my fervwnt claim,
wear my bones as pearls of flame.
Marrow crumbles soft in my hands,
sinew coils as crimson bands
and in the hush of a starless lull,
I cradle the ghost of my mortal skull.
Teeth and tongue, a priesthood old,
chanting psalms of hunger bold.
Love is a feast, a glutton’s decree,
rotting sweetness laid bare for me,
fear decays, obedience dies,
yet holiness flickers where ruin lies.
To eat oneself is to remain,
to sip the fire beneath the vein,
to swallow the tender, pulsing ache
until devotion is all I make.
Until hunger, burning from above,
collapses inward and becomes my love.
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 6:57 AM UTC
To become whole is to gnaw at your own ribs,
to sip the iron bloom that midnigth gives.
Hunger coils in me, serpent of heat,
circling liver and sternum in its steady beat.
Manipura whispers: consume, scorch, devour,
let flesh and marrow fade by the hour,
blood to ember, ember to flame,
my stomach an altar, my hands without shame.
I carve my devotion in shuddering lines,
each cut a hymn where my pulse resigns.
Each swallow a vow, a whispered creed,
the taste of myself the only I heed.
Every fold becomes a sacred rite,
heart and liver trembling bright,
a holy feast that bleeds within,
a wounded prayer dressed in skin.
I bite through the mirror of my own face,
salt on my tongue like a lover’s trace,
I press my teeth to the curve of my arm,
to throat, to thigh, a altar of harm.
Bones crack open under desire,
vertebrae clicking like bones in pyre,
I drink the blood of my fervwnt claim,
wear my bones as pearls of flame.
Marrow crumbles soft in my hands,
sinew coils as crimson bands
and in the hush of a starless lull,
I cradle the ghost of my mortal skull.
Teeth and tongue, a priesthood old,
chanting psalms of hunger bold.
Love is a feast, a glutton’s decree,
rotting sweetness laid bare for me,
fear decays, obedience dies,
yet holiness flickers where ruin lies.
To eat oneself is to remain,
to sip the fire beneath the vein,
to swallow the tender, pulsing ache
until devotion is all I make.
Until hunger, burning from above,
collapses inward and becomes my love.
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