Blaspheme of the Wolf

In human form.
I talk to God.
I search for strength where strength is said to be found.
And find nothing.
Is this truly his cathedral?
With hands folded, I chant mindless nonsense to the god of apathy.
The closest thing to sympathy may be the invisible tears dripping off the stone cheeks of angels.
Tears conjured by a child's imagination.
I storm out in defiance.
And accept the change.
The full moon rises and my instincts command me.
I obey.
Eyes turn black as my muscles inflate.
Finger nails turn into claws teeth turn into fangs, and my once human body is covered in fur.
I become the beast.
Deadly.
Filthy.
And drained of all humanity.
With animal rage I lust for the blood that will stain the hands of a God that doesn't care.