Falling but not going anywhere, Still rooted in the harsh, cold, Cruel, uncaring ground, Rock-hard beneath me. Falling, drowning but there's enough oxygen to support a pack of werewolves. Waves undulating within my mind, Tearing away the wall encasing of my intelligence. I don't want to do this! The room around me melts and spins, Receding and bursting into a kaleidoscope Of threatening, eyebright colours, Too much! Too saturated! Obligingly, they disappear To reveal the jewel-spangled Sky, in which my cruel destiny Is written by stars Bright as searing candle-flame. Chain metal and precious stones encircling me, Squirming and re-forming To create a cold, hard collar Mostly hidden by thickening fur Just as my skeleton Painfully readjusts. Raging, intense screams turn to screeches Splitting my ears’ enhanced sensitivity, Flattening against my stripped head. Green-gold reflective eyes, devoid Of any revealing emotion Gaze seductively, pensively, Into the oil-painted puddle Slopping on the edge of a rough asphalt road Growing steadily with every hammering raindrop Seeing water-streaked, darkened fur bristling, Ears perk, tail drops, hackles rise, A long, lonely cat-call rises into the forgotten night. The moon, cool, calm, serene, Steady luminescence Gazes down upon a drenched Creature of the night, Hissing and spitting At fate.
(Based on the poem Cousin To The Werewolf by Leah G. (Age: 16))
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