The Alchemy — The Christian Satanist

The hunger didn't disappear. I just learned to feed it differently.
For years I offered it the wrong altars. Gave it substances. Gave it rage. Gave it the bodies of people I could not keep and the silence of people I was afraid to lose.
It ate everything and wanted more.
That's what desire does when it has no worthy home. It becomes destruction dressed as need.
And then — slowly, the way rivers carve stone, not fast, not loud, but persistent — I found the page.
I gave the hunger words. I gave it images. I gave it the dark cinematic theater of my own interior and said: here. Make something.
And it did.
This is the alchemy. Not the elimination of the wound — the redirecting of it. Not the silencing of the fire — the pointing of it toward something that can hold the heat.
The desire that used to eat me now writes the books. Now makes the art. Now reaches through the dark to find the others who are burning for the same reason: not destruction. Purpose, wearing desire's face.

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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.

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