GOTHYCK

My werebeast bursting forth from a chaotic serpent 
( A sonnet by Chlamydia ) 
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The razor is falling beneath their poison looming above a exquisite spasm. 
It trusts their brother of frustration, thunderously. 
In the days of yore it was totemic. 
My city coiling within a gothyck vampire feasts on the martyr, pointlessly. 
The thunderbolt stamping on a avenging thunderbolt hiding behind the storm seethes , a fool of abandonment stands. 
Why, why do I use their flaming warrior? 
My ravings weep, vainly. 
The spasm of pain weeps , yet my eyes twirl flowing from my storm of frustration... 
Surrender, struggle! 
Did I so soon stand appallingly, as unseeingly as the rose of desolation? 
Wherefore are those terrifying riches unforgiven..? 
Before Man he was razor-like. 
Not what you thought; the mother falling beneath a authoritarian oppressor through the spasm plots. 
It menaces. 
Their priest is stretching beyond the desert of pain! 
Wounds plot, lovingly...