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The Web Poetry Corner

Andrew Buttrum


Terre Haute, IN, US

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Andrew Buttrum

A sweet delight, but bitter taste.
Long and cunning forefilled chase.
Sometimes cold on rainy nights,
but always warm and sweet for midnight delight.
Filling your body with so much life,
who would even need a knife?
Fresh, so fresh, on first kill.
Don't waste one drop...not one spill.
Rich in flavor, filled with woe
for there is no remorse, not even a drop of sorrow.



Andrew Buttrum

For the darkness feeds on the light
it clutches the lives of the weak tight
through the spiral staircase of hell it slowly climbs
like a Gothic poem in a demonic ryme
with the stripes of blood across your face
the demons hord is left to trace
Black magic day's in ceromonial praise
the demons crave to feast upon your heart
to ravage and rip you body apart
to never know what mind game your playing from the start
the demons live as species of survival
waiting impatiently fo hell's furious arrival
we are the dead, we know what you say
we are the dead, we hear you pathetic souls pray
dance with us across the black fire, answer to sin and every burning desire
we are the flame thats in your life
we are the pain when your gutted with a knife
we are teh thoughts racing through your mind
we are the darkness you are trying to find
we are the thought in a cannibals mind while eating flesh
we are the torment of terror of a pentagram on your burning chest
we are teh blood in your tears....we are your fears