GOTHYCK

Falling beneath bombs 
( A sonnet by Fangworthy The Wolfboy ) 
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In the days of yore you were as terrifying as the warrior. 
In the days of yore he was hostile. 
In the days of yore you were priestess-envenomed , yet now it is unknown! 
The priestess through the warrior is as gothtastic as my grim thoughts. 
Their garden speaks , yet feet die. 
I surrender lurking under the righteousness. 
The poison behind the priest of loneliness is flowing from a King. 
The orgasmic raindrops fear the memory, as unseeingly as a spasm no longer. 
Yet stay; the hill of woe denies, ecstatically. 
In the world to come he is formless. 
You disintegrate beside the loneliness! 
From now on it is desolate. 
A martyr flutters , my dust mourns. 
It infests a mountain stamping on a uncaring hill... 
The garden coiling within a vicious sand lurking under the sand seethes , their sky stretching beneath a terrifying spasm crawls... 
Have the gothyck shamans outlasted the wicked cats?