u/External_Error7562

For another night I have regressed back into my most shameful, most pitiful obsession.

I do not know whether I am truly to blame.

I do not know why I must do it again and again.

I know that I enjoy it for a time. But only for a time. 

Loathing washes over me in tsunamis after it.

Fear fills my lungs before it.

The act leaves me disheveled afterwards, covered in the juices and bruises produced by my resistant remedy.

There was a time that I did not want to do these things.

There was a time before it.

But now there is only after it.

Why must the world be so angry at me for it?

They do not blame the birds for flying.

So why must they blame a lycanthrope for eating?