The beast is still living
deep under my skin
And i have stopped believing
that i could ever win

The moon opens the cage
and i'm forced to let go
I give in to rage
as my heart starts to slow

It no longer hurts
but my soul is in pain
I drink a few quarts
and the blood falls like rain

Now it is morning
and i try to forget
That the city is mourning
but i fill with regret

The beast is within me
but i don't have the power
And there's nothing i see
that can help so i cower.

This is my second poem about werewolves, it can stand alone but i like to think that it is a sequel to "The Beast Within".
please tell me what you think, good or bad, it all helps.