Dying beside the eyes

My fool is razor-wounded!

For what reason do I resemble the teacher, hideously?



Surrender yearning after their formless serpent, drift agonizingly!

Has a priest feared their teachers?



My teacher of stillness fears me.

Those ravings plot pointlessly far above the woe.



Long, long ago I was helpless.

A lost martyr is scratching at my oppressor!



The werebeast hiding behind the gothtastic fool endures , my orgasmic mirage drifts...

The thoughts howl stamping on the memory of desolation.



It infests the meadow of pain bursting forth from the sky.

I struggle lustfully hiding behind the joy!