The Big Bad Truth

I know it is wrong of me,

To do these things,

To feel this way.

Yet, you judge.

Yet, you do not understand.

Have you ever felt the bitter kiss of the cold?

No, I doubt that very much.

Seeing as how your homes emit a warmth I can only long for.

Have you ever had to end the life of another?

No, I doubt that very much.

Seeing as your eyes are still round with youthful wonder. 

I know it is wrong of me,

To do these things.

Yet, I cannot help myself. 

For the truth of it is,

I am weak with longing of a simpler life.

A life, you people have long decided I cannot have 

For I am a wolf.

For I am the big and bad thing that haunts your step,

That follows you down the trail,

A shadow,

An omen of death. 

Yet, it was you who created me.

It was you who could not live without the monster. 

You, who had to tell the story. 

Who had to have a hero.

It was you who cast the first stone.

You who screamed my name. 

So when you pass by my home, 

The home I fought for with every tooth,

Every nail,

Every drop of blood.

I cannot help myself.

You dangle your life in front of me, 

So simple, so good.

With your baskets of treats.

With your flesh covered meat.

With your face flushed joyfully.

With your blood red cloak. 

How could I resist?

For I am the monster. 

For I am the big bad wolf.

And if I am denied a simple life.

It is simple to conclude what I must do.

A monster you wanted.

A monster you have.