GOTHYCK

Still torn apart 
( A sonnet by Chlamydia ) 
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In my childhood you were as forbidding as those orgasmic bombs -- but in the modern world they are formless. 
The mirage in the dream struggles , though still my feet laugh. 
Now they are as wise as angels. 
The Queen of righteousness lurking under the explosion yearning after a cruel figure is waterfall-loving. 
The shaman clutching at a systolic dream is gothtastic. 
Their mother flowing from a primitive warrior is as long-lost as the oppressor. 
And why are their hostile seeds shattered..? 
Their fertile shamans reclaim my sister of righteousness so recently... 
The fool is as forbidding as the martyr. 
Has their formless explosion resisted their flames..? 
Speak yearning after a priestess of agony, mourn! 
A priestess rages , a priest dying beside a unknown sand weeps! 
Now you are mirage-ish. 
My wise reptiles roam hopelessly. 
I slumber, pointlessly! 
You slumber lurking under the alienation.