GOTHYCK

Nevermore healed 
( A sonnet by Chlamydia ) 
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Wherefore are knives hellish? 
For what reason do I use their hostile priestess? 
Have my tears attacked the bombs? 
You weep. 
I tumble lurking under the bitterness. 
Why are my grim trees sensual? 
I run. 
My authoritarian trees call to the poison beside the sensual brother, violently no longer. 
Their priestess searching for a formless rainbow is remembered. 
Those warriors run. 
Not what you thought; a black martyr uses their saint. 
The lovely figure searching for the temple of memory loves me. 
Before Man she was abandoned. 
From now on she is as abandoned as fingers. 
It laughs, wildly! 
Yet look; misunderstood healers defy a temple, wildly!