Carolina Confidential

Skin remembers
what mouths forget.
Every mark a testimony,
every ache a translation—
where silence
was louder than begging
and the bruise
was the only witness
that stayed.

Because this isn’t romance.
It’s ruin.
It’s devotion carved in nerve endings,
loyalty branded in ache.
Not whispered promises,
but vows beaten deep enough
to outlast words.

The bruise doesn’t just prove you were taken—
it proves you were claimed.
Your body became canvas,
and I was the hand that painted.
Every strike a signature,
every gasp a contract sealed in bone.
And the canvas
was never yours again.

Restraint was never the point.
It was the surrender past restraint,
the collapse into My hands,
the breaking that wasn’t weakness—
but worship.

Because to kneel is one thing.
To be unmade is another.
And still you offered yourself to both.
Still you chose ruin,
knowing ruin was holy.

The bruise stays longer than the moan,
longer than the sweat,
longer than the trembling collapse after.
It lingers when the room is quiet,
when your reflection stares back,
when phantom echoes bloom
beneath your skin.

The body remembers
because that’s the only scripture that matters.
Not ink.
Not vows.
But the gospel of ache.
The covenant of ruin.
The bruise that prays for you
long after you can speak—
a prayer with only one answer…
you are Mine.

~Dray Orion