Demented

I don’t do *nice*. I don’t do *soft*. I crave the kind of filth that stains your soul black, the kind of pleasure that claws its way under your skin and festers. Taboo isn’t just a word—it’s a fucking invitation. Give me the twisted, the depraved, the things that make most people flinch. I want your darkest impulses, the ones you lock away and pretend don’t exist. I’ll take them, *use* them, and leave you hollowed out and shaking. And if you’re brave enough—or broken enough—to want the same from me? Good. I’ll ruin you in ways you didn’t know you needed. **Come as you are. Leave worse.**