When The Moon is Full

   
Tufts of mangled fur, viscid with days old blood.      
Flesh caught betwixt fangs, I lurk in the woods.      
        
The moon’s still full, it glares over where I linger.      
I howl ireful at it, raising the middle finger.      
        
A scent tickles my muzzle, prey wanders in the night.    
Eyes a glow widen with frenzy, I run with all my might.    
        
Dodging tree's and panting hard, tracking the air for dinner.      
I glimpse a lone man in my sight, I think we have a winner.      
        
He screams and trembles at my glory, tripping over his own feet.      
His fear fuels my beastly power; I relish such a treat.      
   
I play tug of war with his arms for starters, simulating an applause.    
His head in my grip from pop the daisy, a Shakespearean play in gore.    
   
Ravaging through skin and bone, a freshly painted tongue.    
Like a story from the horror genre, the curse can’t be undone.    
   
Hours beckon the sun to rise, the moon goes back to sleep.    
Pain seers through my body, my human heart can beat.    
   
Fur returns to skin; the wolf has fled the scene.      
Here I am in the nude, chewing on a spleen.