he is no more man
than he is wolf
when he is hungry
he feeds
digs his fangs
and bares his teeth
it’s all the same
two sides — sedis owt
of a silver dagger
he bleeds and bruises
his pupils
indifferent to his form
fatten in the moonlight
he breathes and longs
for the taste of flesh
for the sucking of teeth
and the click of his jaw
as he curls his tongue
to suck the blood from his gums
and the smell of the river water
as he dips his nose into the stream
a soothing balm
like the taste of nature’s bosom
and the vicious nectar of summer
that drips
and sticks
like sweet pollen to the flower
he knows nothing of being man
and knows nothing of being wolf
he is consumed by the unknown
of just man
of just wolf
there is no just
only being
the werewolf is
rejected
the werewolf is
shunned
he is haunted by the very nature of his own being
there is a werewolf who stalks the woods
and what am i to do about this werewolf?
there is a werewolf who stalks the woods
and what is his crime?
there is
a werewolf
who stalks
the woods
is existence his only sin?
there
is
a
werewolf
who
stalks
the
woods
your hatred grows teeth. it gnaws at the flesh of his shame.
he is not man.
he is not wolf.
he is an abomination.
then his breath is punishment enough.
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