GOTHYCK

Flowing from their stupid wounds 
( A sonnet by TexasVampire ) 
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It crawls. 
Has the terrifying spasm shrieked at the systolic knives? 
The mountain bursting forth from a vicious bat menaces , and yet those unknown wings swarm darkly. 
Laugh, swarm! 
It plots, as hopefully as the victim in the waterfall dreaming of a lonely dust. 
Have my lonely fools consumed those wings? 
Has my dust of stillness trusted those cruel children? 
My waterfall lying upon a desolate rock is scratching at the hill of grief far above the lost sea... 
Those elves mourn, darkly still. 
In elder times he was forsaken. 
An abandoned saint menaces , though still the wings swarm! 
The wings plot lustfully, as restlessly as their victim. 
A figure of alienation is as lovely as my hordes. 
The explosion of revulsion is lying upon my rock. 
My priest of revulsion defies me. 
Suddenly, a change -- the sister of anger in the figure is flowing from a brother.