A poem by Chrispy

I Crave

Things that creep in the night,
Things that gasp, groan, and bite,
Wizards foul with second sight,
They electrify me with awful fright.

Grisly litchs dripping foul,
The far off hooting of an owl,
Werewolves out on the prowl,
I cringe at their deadly howl.

Tsathoggua casts a spell with frog,
Something follows through the bog,
I hear the bark of a ghostly dog,
echo through phosphorescent fog.

Then miasmic mists of sulphur smell,
Stain the air from the depths of Hell.
Something grasps me like liquid gel,
Like the ancient curse did fortell.

Now, I’ve got a rash, a fever.
My flesh ! It's begun to shiver.
My insides are all a’quiver.
My God! I think I crave your liver …