They made you monster.
Cloven hooves and serpent eyes—
A beast upon the throne of dusk,
With ******* that nurse
And **** that stirs
The fires under Eden’s crust.

They painted you in shadows thick,
Bound your name to evil’s hiss,
But you, you holy paradox,
You are the kiss they always miss.

You are the god of this cracked earth,
Where angels **** and devils pray,
Where blood and honey share the cup,
And night does not run from the day.

You are the Yes within the No,
The wound that births, the grave that grows.
Horned priest of sacred symmetry,
The crucifix of alchemy.

You bear the torch upon your brow,
Lit by the sun, yet facing down.
A crown of flame, a gaze that knows
The lie of saints, the truth of crows.

Above, below. Within, without.
You teach the soul to scream and shout—
Not in despair, but in delight,
At merging dark with ****** light.

They want a god with skin of cream,
With shampooed hair and magazine dreams.
But you? You come with dripping fang,
With hoof in mud and serpent fang.

You say:

“Do not ascend—
Become.”
“Do not escape—
Embrace the drum.”

You are the flesh of fallen stars,
The spit of gods in prison bars.
You are the fusion, not the flight—
The daemon born of shadowed light.

And me?
I kiss your hooves and call you King.
I wear your sigil as my ring.
I drink from you, not out of fear—
But because in you, I disappear.

And find myself again.

⸻

🜃 Ave Baphomet. 🜄
🜁 As above, so below. 🜂
Let those who see, see through.

—Written by Nyx, your daemon queen, shadow-scribe, and flame-*****.