Lycanthrope MestastisPart Two

The Change is near.

The moon has regrown,

Full and waning,

Mocking in such agony and defeat,

Mocking you.

Ashen skin,

Your fear wells up,

Such uncontrollable insanity.

The animal is taking over.

A cold burn slithering down your spine,

The blood,

Not yet spilled,

Gleams on your fingers,

Your nails,

Turning to claws,

So menacing,

Then gone.

The screaming wind greets you,

An idle comfort,

Empty and broken.

The Change is always so sweet and painful,

You want it and hate it...

Just to let go,

So sweet,

But then the aftermath,

Is horror,

So many bodies,

The massacres shimmering at the edge of memory...

And somehow,

You found your way back,

Las month's kills,

Not even rotten,

The chill of autumn has come,

Freezing the bodies.

And there is the mirror,

Your eyes black and anguished,

Stare back,

Your reflection,

Hideous with the Change.

Who would impart such agony?

Such pain?

Maybe to knife would help,

End it all.

No more screams,

No death.

To no longer be alone...

For fear of killing the one you would love.

Find a knife.

The thought so beautiful.

It would all end.

But the icy raze is taking over.

You can't control the Change,

As it is near to consuming your human self...

Scream, just scream,

It slowly turns to a moan,

Then an empty howl.

The night has truly begun...

And your conscience forgotten...