the werewolf ballerina
spinning and spiraling
eyes closed and nose towards the ceiling,
she can transform at will
with her outstretched claws honed,
catching and scraping the paper
she’ll gouge out the walls of this tiny room,
she dances to the orchestra in her mind
blood and dance are equal friends,
she moves to the rhythmic drum of raindrops
on the floor she glides a moonlit feral waif,
this werewolf ballerina fears her moonlight
once a month it comes round, again,
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