Lycanthrophilia - Edgar Allan Poet

In straitjacket and padded cell,
I struggle when the full moon calls.
The doctors say I am unwell.
I hurl myself against the walls
till, gradually, my lupine howl
dies down into a weary growl.

At other times, I am a man
and therefore I must integrate
with other men as best I can:
a human beast, approximate.
But, in my heart, the wolf-pack cry
commands me so I must comply.

There are no mirrors in this place
but I discern, in my mind’s eye,
the snarl upon my stricken face
whenever nurses happen by.
To murder would not be a sin:
I am a wolf in human skin.

Edgar Allan Poet