YOU ARE THE FLESH MAGGOTS ADORE

is not a novel. it is a reliquary of devotion turned disease， love pressed too tightly until it bruises. these words are embalmed offerings.

𝘐 𝘞𝘈𝘚 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘉𝘖𝘙𝘕， 𝘐 𝘞𝘈𝘚 𝘜𝘕𝘌𝘈𝘙𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘋. a body of whispers，stitched hunger， guilt， and the soft wet sound longing. I do not write to be understood. I write to rot beautifully.

lace - threaded， blood - warm， meant to be found beneath the floorboards of your better judgment.

if you recognize yourself in these pages， don't run. it's already too late. 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 | 2023