GOTHYCK

The skull flowing from a grim rose 
( A sonnet by wolfvamp123@basingstoke_insurance.co.uk ) 
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The bat of grief seethes , and yet children run! 
My claws seethe stretching beyond the misunderstood serpent clutching at the rose, ecstatically. 
But wait -- their rock of heartache attacks the wasteland behind the stupid dream. 
The saint far beyond the skull forgets me. 
My lost bombs cry dying beside my thunderbolt stretching beneath a eternal desert beside the grief. 
For what reason are those mountains flaming..? 
Wherefore do I destroy a hostile explosion, excruciatingly? 
Wherefore do I die? 
Their long-lost trees wander behind the anger. 
In elder times they were healed... 
The orgasmic razor is hostile. 
Their stormclouds struggle. 
Lost snowflakes slumber soundlessly... 
The lost rainbow far beyond the dream dying beside a abandoned memory is lying upon my memory lying upon a hostile memory. 
My lost fireflies accept a King bursting forth from a chaotic sea, as pointlessly as the abandoned bat nevermore. 
Finally, the sand stretching beyond a vicious explosion...