MY GOTHIC SOUL
Black is the colour of the Raven’s wing –
Describing the sound of a Banshee shriek – It defines my thoughts, as they start to sing –
Her body appeals to what my soul doeth seek –
The poet has written the book in blood – The race is on, but no one can win – For sex and lust lies deep in the mud –
The elders claim it to be a sin –
They see not beauty in sensual emotion –
Though Darkness reins, its brightness glows –
Her black nails shine, as my pupils widen –
On graveyard canvas, the wet paint flows –
Sat on a tombstone, her black skirt shortens –
White legs spread out, show appealing thighs –
Her smooth bald crotch makes my paintbrush harden –
Throws back her hair with a long deep sigh –
I’m ready to portray her Gothic features –
The signs of lust open wide the doors –
My mind is full of creative matter – I perceive her treasures through all her pores –
Goth culture’s pure, although complex and deep -
I can sense her thoughts, as they fill with sunshine –
Though through all the layers her Darkness still seeps -
She smiles as she raises her glass of wine –
I’ve finally discovered these great many riches –
Her mysterious mind let’s me access like a mole -
I am now member of the circle of witches –
They recognize the resonance of my Gothic Soul –
