
Songs You Don’t Just Hear — You Feel
Waymon Hudson is a late-deafened queer artist turning sensation into sound — creating music that pulses with intimacy, vulnerability, and heat.
His debut album, Through My Skin, is a full-sensory love story told in hands, heartbeat, and heartbreak — from the first touch to the last afterglow, each track pulls you deeper into a night you’ll never forget and the ache that lingers after.

About the Music
I make music the way I live — through touch, through breath, through skin.
As a late-deafened queer artist, sound isn’t just something I hear. It’s something I feel moving through me, something I hold in my body. Every lyric, every note, every pause is built to be experienced the same way.
Through My Skin is a full-sensory love story — from the first electric brush of fingers to the heat of a crowded room, from the ache of a last glance to the rush of letting go. Each song pulls you deeper, like a hand at the small of your back guiding you across the floor.
It’s sweat and heartbeat, whispered confessions and unspoken invitations.
It’s what it feels like to fall in, fall apart, and rise up again — all in the span of one night.
This isn’t background music.
This is music that asks you to close your eyes, let it hit you, and feel every second.

Through My Skin's Story
Through My Skin moves like a body in motion — pulling you from slow-burn seduction into breathless closeness, peeling back the layers until you’re bare.
It starts with the heat of the first glance, the way the air shifts when someone catches your eye. Then it sinks into the press of palms, the rhythm of hips, the pulse you feel against your own. The night deepens, and the music traces every curve of connection — the hunger, the sweetness, the surrender.
But intimacy isn’t just heat. It’s the quiet between beats, the places where vulnerability lives. The arc bends toward heartbreak — the cool air where warmth used to be, the echo of touch you can’t get back.
And then, release. A rush that lifts you out of yourself, the kind of euphoric freedom you only find after you’ve risked feeling everything.
It’s a story told in skin and shadow, breath and bass line.
One night. Every feeling. All the way through your skin.

Featured Tracks
Every track is a confession — some whispered, some shouted — each meant to be felt in the chest, under the skin, and all the way down to the last beat.
Ruin Me Slowly – The Seduction
A hypnotic slow-burn — dangerous, magnetic, impossible to walk away from. A surrender that feels like bliss and destruction in the same breath.
“I felt your breath before your hands,
And I still leaned in.
Your mouth a promise I should’ve dodged,
But I wanted to sin.
Before I Go – The Heartbreak
Stripped to its bones — raw piano and voice, quiet heartbreak, unguarded truth. The kind of song you play alone in the dark.
“You stopped asking if I was okay,
I stopped bothering to lie.
And somewhere in the quiet,
I learned how to say goodbye.”
Night Therapy – The Release
The dance floor as salvation — bodies in motion, strobe lights erasing the ache. Desire you can’t think your way out of.
“Call it night therapy — a dance floor confession,
Bodies on bodies, no room for questions.”
Hear the rest. Feel the rest.

Behind the Music
I don’t just make music — I make sensation.
Being late-deafened rewired the way I create. I don’t hear songs the way most people do; I feel them. In my chest. Under my skin. In the slow pull of breath between beats.
When I write, I’m chasing the way a fingertip across your arm can say more than words. The way your pulse syncs with someone else’s in the dark. The way a single inhale can hold both longing and release.
Every track on Through My Skin is a confession — a memory pressed against warm skin, a night you wish would never end, a touch that still lingers hours later. The arrangements are built for the body as much as the ear: low-end you can feel in your bones, harmonies that wrap around you, melodies that move like breath against your neck.
This is music for dancing close, for kissing slow, for remembering the exact taste of a moment.
It’s not about listening.
It’s about feeling every second.