My mind is a voracious beast that is overwhelming and unable to be stopped. It can eventually be calmed, but stopped never. During the storm the teeth gnash and mutilate human flesh and cuticle. It is a gruesome sight of withering decay and primal darkness of unknowing. In the weakest of times I allow myself to become this. I need this. Without this there is no way to know the calm, the ease of the now. My mind is a werewolf, except takes much less than the rising of a full moon for me to change. After I have chewed my fingers to the bone becomes awareness and realization. I must learn to hone the beast, for I want it to be always apart of me. It is my power.