lakenyastone7
Step into a realm where the air tastes of rust and roses, where the veil splits and something ancient exhales. The Dark Decadent Collection is not a book-it is a summoning. Each poem drips red with want, etched from bone and memory, pulled from the throat of grief, lust, betrayal, and death. These are not verses for the faint. These are spellworks soaked in grave dirt and dream smoke, born of southern altars and stained hands.
You will not skim these pages-you will feel them. In your teeth. In your gut. Each stanza pulls something forward: a spirit, a shadow, a truth you've buried under politeness and pain. Magic curls between the lines. Fire hisses under every word. This is hoodoo pressed into paper, sorrow carved into ink.
If you've ever stood before your altar with salt-stung eyes...
If your hips have ever moved to music no one else could hear...
If you've ever kissed someone you knew would ruin you-
This book knows your name.
Open it, and bleed beautifully.
Now, I ask of you three wishes to be granted:
1. Vote
2. Comment
3. Share with your family and friends.
Thank you! Talk to you soon.