Cycle of the Wolf

My first attempt at poetry. About werewolves. Free-form.

Perverted branches
Grab at my clothes
Handfuls of hair
To keep for their own

Behind me, that sound
Loud. No, very loud!
Gaining, not hindered by the trees
Tonight, a full moon. No clouds

My eyes are just as full
My skin is just as pale
Limbs battering and dodging
As I follow the overgrown trail

Those eyes, not white like my own
Red, possessed, unrelenting
I stop
A log in the path, my escape preventing

A white toothy grin
Shows itself to me
Reminding me of the Cheshire cat
The rest of the beast, I can soon see

Branches snap
Like bones breaking
My arms trembling
My legs shaking
My breath short
My vision fading

A howl pierces like a blade
A pentagram in my hand
With a sinking horror I see, before me
The Wolf Man

The beast wears humanity loose
Like a throw on shawl
A scream meets my lips, but no further
As I shudder and fall

Teeth rip at my breasts
Sheets of agony from all inside
The flutter of life in me flickers
If only here I died

A howl pierces like a blade
A pentagram in your hand
With a sinking horror you see, before you
Me