What I Offer — The Christian Satanist

I am not a savior. I am a scar with a voice. A witness with dirt on his hands. A soul that has dragged itself through enough fire to know the smell of false light.
I have been hero and hypocrite, lover and ghost, builder and wrecking ball.
I have carried silence like a loaded weapon, and called the weight maturity.
But here is what I offer: Not perfection. Not polished salvation. Not some clean white sermon for people afraid of their own shadow.
I offer what survived. The part of me that still chooses honesty when illusion would be easier. The part that still reaches toward people even after loss taught me how temporary everything feels.
I offer the spark. The one buried under shame, under noise, under memory, under the wreckage of becoming.
If you have one too, then maybe this is not a performance. Maybe this is a fire signal. Maybe this is how the lost find one another.

From the collection

Your Weird, Your Wounds, Your Why

68 pages. 5 movements. Poetry from the edge of shadow and revelation.
What you feel is not a flaw. It's a fire.

Get Your Copy — $9

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