Lupinacy

Three quarters gone, seven days to go, the madness comes, with a full moon's flow Twelve nights a year, his memories faded, He wakes alone, naked, bloody and jaded. A vague memory recalled, a subtle flavour A need to run free, the night air to savour Try to describe, he cannot begin, The need to be rid of, the Beast that's within. A pack beast he is, coated in human skin, snarl, snap and claw, when the high tides begin. He knows not I watch, he knows not I see, the carnage, the terror, the fear that is he. One night a month, he stalks and he prowls, predatory need, he hunts, feeds and howls. I've pondered and thought, thought with all care the screams and the blood, should i be there. I lose sight of him, so I move in too near, my carefulness sacrificed along with my fear. Remains that i find, of his latest feast, are rotting and steaming, not cold in the least. I've overstepped my bounds, the line it is crossed, I can feel he is close, life's race i have lost. My neck hairs arise, sharp pain like a knife, I stop and I turn, for the last time in life.