CREED SAINT
Writer. Provocateur. Problem. Saint. Sinner.

“I was told to tone it down.
I chose to turn it the fuck up
and add a little discomfort.”

I don’t write for comfort.
I write like a storm dressed in silk.
Every sentence is a sin.
Every paragraph, a sermon.

I ‘m Creed Saint.
The son of an angel and a devil.
The Saint.
The Sinner.

The penman with a darkly divine rhythm and a sinner’s mouth.
Trickster by blood. Lover by nature.
God and Goddess-touched, devil-blessed, and Southern to the bone. Memphis to be exact.

I was never meant to play it safe.
I write with bourbon breath and ancestral fire.
My stories don’t whisper, they strut, they bite, they moan.

I am not here for the algorithm.
I’m here to make your heart stutter.
Your throat tighten.
Your soul hum.

So read if you dare.
Feel if you must.

And remember:
I don’t just tell stories
I leave bite marks.