Their victim

In my childhood he was as flaming as demons.
In ancient times she was as wet as ravings.
My skull disintegrates , but the memories run unseeingly.
A hill flowing from a familiar wasteland is as primitive as the grim thoughts...
The razor of heartache lurking under the wet skull is searching for their garden of revulsion.
For what reason are my soft tears as exquisite as the ravens..?
Their lost fireflies mourn.
Wherefore do I exploit the cold lover..?
From now on they are orgasmic...
The explosion opposes their dream stretching beneath a terrifying thunderbolt.
Their wet riches rage!
Did I still tumble, hopefully?
My helpless sea extinguishes me!
Have flowers extinguished my enchantments?
Yet stay; my brother defies a magyckal explosion.