Their saint flowing from a helpless mother reveres me.
A spasm is towering above a razor!
A dust towering above a forbidding grass drifts, hopefully.
Disintegrate, surrender yearning after the teacher behind the explosion!
At last it is gothtastic.
Through it all my victim clutching at a gothtastic victim protects, wildly.
(created with the Goth Poetry Generator from this Poetry Generator page.