OPEN HANDS, EMPTY

They call it monstrous because they do not understand devotion. They recoil from the teeth because they have spent their lives pretending hunger is weakness. But hunger is sacred. It is the first truth ever spoken by flesh. Every creature born into this world arrives starving. Starving for love. For purpose. For touch. For meaning. And rather than face that hunger, humanity buries it beneath performance and politeness until their souls rot quietly behind perfect smiles. I chose differently. I opened my mouth to the void… and it answered me. These teeth were not made for violence alone. They were made for communion. For becoming. For stripping away the fragile mask of humanity and revealing what waits beneath it — something primal, eternal, divine. To worship something fully is to let it consume you. Bone. Breath. Identity. Shame. Everything. And so I fed myself to the dark willingly. Every prayer became sharper. Every desire became holy. Every wound became another mouth singing back to God. You hear screaming in the song because transformation is never silent. The flesh resists. The ego resists. The frightened little version of yourself claws against the altar begging to survive. But survival is not transcendence. You cannot evolve while clinging to what you were. So the teeth remain. A reminder. A sacrament. A mouth built not merely to speak… but to devour the false self completely. And when the final shape emerges from beneath the blood and ash— You will understand. Divinity was never above you. It was always buried inside your hunger.