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Curse of the Moon
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Gothic The moon is full in the deep of the night.
Only I can feel the anguish of my plight.
Roaming through the glass, brick, and steel,
this darkened curse feels so surreal.
Having the urge to run with the pack.
Seeing some prey I must attack.
The taste of flesh is what I desire,
feels as though my humanity's on fire.
The scent of a victim is deep in my breath,
it won't have peace until after its death.
Sensing its fear as I stalk in the glow,
I tear into its neck, and feel the blood flow.
The sign of the pentagram etched in my flesh,
loving it when my victims scream and thresh.
The look of fear and horror in their eyes,
their last breath exhausted before their demise.
Satiated I howl with exhilaration at the moon,
falling asleep and waking before noon.
Filled with remorse, wishing I would succumb,
a werewolf is not what I wanted to become.
