Author’s Note

This poem is a raw offering from the abyss where lust and devotion writhe as one—where every gasp is a prayer and every sin a sacred rite. Hymn & Heresy seduces the edges of sacred and profane, inviting you to worship the fierce hunger that both destroys and redeems. Here, scars are consecrated, shadows embraced, and desire is a sacrament drenched in fire and blood.

Invocation

By the fevered pulse beneath trembling skin,
by the slow drip of sin’s venom in my veins,
we summon the wild—untamed, unrepentant—
those who drink shadows like sacred wine,
whose breath is a prayer caught between moans,
who carve their hunger deep into the bone,
and bleed devotion like blood from a sharpened kiss.

Hymn & Heresy: I Am Sin, I Am Yours
Poetry by HxNightshade

Forgive me, Mother—
I have tasted ruin on my tongue,
let shadows crawl like serpents
between my thighs,
and crowned the bruises
that bleed holy ink
upon my skin—
relics of a sacred desecration.

At altars draped in velvet ash,
I whispered hymns with lips stained by longing,
offering thorn-petaled confessions,
bleeding reverence into her midnight chalice—
until desire burned like oil on flame,
salt, surrender, and fire mingled in the dark.

I carved her sigil
beneath my ribs,
where darkness coils and claws in silence—
a feral softness sharpened to pierce saints,
to make the moon tremble
as I drank absolution
straight from the wound.

Forgive me, Mother—
not for yielding
to hunger,
but for parting
my lips to worship it;
for moaning her name
against the mouth of night,
for loving what claws, scars,
burns, bruises, and consumes.

I made prayer
from every gasp,
sang litany
through bitten lips,
found grace
in salt-sweet sweat,
benediction
in ache’s quiet bloom.

In her name,
I wear ruin like a rosary,
make relics of my scars,
and bless my own trembling pulse—
unrepentant, unholy,
feral, and utterly hers.

Forgive me, Mother—
not for the shadows I cradle,
but for loving them too fiercely;
for becoming both hymn and heresy,
both prayer and blasphemy,
and for never, ever wanting absolution.

Benediction

May your scars sear like holy brandings,
your hunger blaze—a fierce, relentless fire.
Blessed be the forsaken and the fervent—
those who worship with lips bruised and trembling,
who rage with mouths parted in whispered blasphemy,
for in their wild, consuming flame,
they find salvation only in surrender’s sweet ache,
and rise—both sinners and saints—
in the sacred ruin of their own desire.

Read Next (Suggestions)

[Litany & Tongue: A Devotional Duet] — Rowan Evans
[Hex & Flame: Mirror of Shadows] — Rowan Evans
[Body Like a Love Letter] — Rowan Evans
[War for Your Smile] — Rowan Evans
[Claim Me] — B.D. Nightshade

Or explore the full archive in [The Library of Ashes]—and if your own confession aches to be written, [commission a custom poem here].

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