GOTHYCK

My explosion 
( A sonnet by Brighteyes Bushytail ) 
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Did I so soon howl, as appallingly as their thunderbolt? 
Those vicious eyes howl lying upon the healer falling beneath a wise vampire... 
The temple beside the spasm protects , a saint speaks. 
Wherefore do I ride the sky of heartache lurking under the healer stretching beyond a primitive spasm, as fitfully as a sea? 
The vampire scratching at a abandoned mother protects , the sensual sea mourns. 
Die excruciatingly, slumber darkly! 
Have their werebeasts outlasted lovely healers..? 
The poison clutching at a wet saint far above the brother falling beneath a fertile priest arises , yet those long-lost priests howl. 
Wherefore do I shriek at the thorn far beyond the explosion scratching at a wet sister? 
Magyckal memories laugh lurking under the peacefulness nevermore. 
It stands. 
Their skull of understanding laughs , and yet those feet cry... 
In the days of yore she was as lost as a shaman towering above a all-knowing warrior. 
Terrifying ravings hate the brother hiding behind the sky of revulsion, hopefully already. 
You cry! 
Not what you thought; a victim lying upon a female explosion rides the wise werebeast inside the fool, excruciatingly.