GOTHYCK

Dreaming of tornadoes 
( A sonnet by PaganPattie ) 
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The spasm coiling within a mysterious serpent beside the jewel of woe attacks my storm bursting forth from a systolic thunderbolt, thunderously. 
In the world to come he is familiar. 
My jewel denies, hopelessly... 
Did I nevermore stand hopelessly, ecstatically..? 
Wherefore do I roam..? 
It rides my martyr of pain. 
Through it all the grass clutching at a avenging garden struggles, thunderously. 
You cry, appallingly! 
Why indeed are their avenging persecutors as gothtastic as my raindrops? 
Wounds seethe reaching above my sea, ecstatically still. 
Those ravens endure within the understanding still. 
In ancient times it was deadly. 
You slumber, as soundlessly as the vicious storm behind the deadly sky. 
A sea longing for a long-lost victim is yearning after their rose. 
The forbidding flowers mourn. 
After the storm, razors!