Lunacy is a phase measured by celestial recession,
Boldly illuminating the beast within,
Its hands itching with malevolent intent.
But I must not give time for the hunger to grow
Or spare a moment listening to the story of my teeth.

And yet senses are growing keen,
and muscles are yearning to run.
The roiling fire in my blood
sings a primal howl in my heart.

Then the withered hand moves to grip the hypertrophic wrist
Repress, repress the beast within!
But without duty, useless, and a needless part of today’s modern dissent,
my purpose returns to the animal nature of my origin.

To hunt, to kill, to roam unencumbered,
to let awaken the monster from conditioned slumber.
It is the awakened animal, mad with instinct
that cannot be shamed by the expectations of society.

There is no spell they can cast, no rhetoric they can speak,
that will settle the parts of my heart that cannot be tamed.
Monster versus machine, I reject the locked cage that was taught to me.
And herald the moonlight, which serves as the key.