Your eyes are aflame with the bloodlust
Of a merciless killer.
The flex of each muscle sheds the bloody crust
Of yet another sinner.

The beat of your black heart
Will never cease.
Spellbound by the Devil Herself, She has created an art
Out of playing your soul like a card of decease.

She watches you bleed and sweat
Slaving away in that sorry field of souls.
You harvest the crop She finds so sweet
Only to reap a reward, to you, far better than jewels.

Kneeling at Her toes, you beg,
Presenting to Her the crop of your troubles.
She smirks and strokes your weary leg
As your lifeless fur tries to rise but struggles.

A paw morphs into a hand
Your fierce mane into a head of soft hair.
You tremble as the sand
Beneath you grows hot and your body fair.

She rises above you
Inspecting your former human cell.
Worked human flesh continues to bust through
The cold fur of the Wolf from Hell.

She’s brought you back to life.

This poem was written/submitted by Katelyn Page.