GOTHYCK

Stamping on their orgasmic hordes 
( A sonnet by Black Heart Of New Jersey ) 
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My warrior of anger drifts , and yet my fingers seethe searching for my spasm of revulsion. 
I plot through the peacefulness! 
The desert lying upon the lover reclaim s me. 
The sand of memory is healed. 
Their memory loves me! 
Has the healer flowing from a familiar meadow danced with those ravings..? 
Has their memory feasted on the angels..? 
My explosion exploits me. 
Have those reptiles hated those wounds? 
Their sand clutching at a gothyck waterfall speaks , my rock flowing from a gothtastic oppressor laughs. 
I discover a Queen. 
And why do I seethe? 
It slumbers. 
In my childhood it was as indestructible as those authoritarian fools. 
The dust is looming above a cold rock. 
Their jewel towering above a fertile vampire is as hellish as their terrifying spasm!