GOTHYCK

No longer torn apart 
( A sonnet by WolfSpirit ) 
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You struggle inside the frustration. 
The waterfall is towering above a desert. 
In the modern world she is terrifying. 
Their razors weep. 
Bombs seethe terrifyingly. 
A jewel calls to my spasm of heartache, as appallingly as the poison cowering before a indestructible rock through the skull. 
The storm dies , and yet their formless reptiles tumble. 
A brother yearning after a avenging mother is dying beside the martyr bursting forth from a gothyck priestess. 
You defy their memory. 
It fears my storm falling beneath a hellish mountain! 
A thorn of joy weeps. 
Have orgasmic knives defied bombs? 
Has my healer dreaming of a comforting skull revered the gothyck angels? 
The victim lying upon a abandoned dream hiding behind the dream longing for a stupid dust mourns , my waterfall lying upon a helpless wasteland drifts! 
It rages, smilingly! 
At the darkest hour , at the darkest hour , thinking about it now.