NaPoWriMo #16: Moonlit Windows

We pretended to be ghosts,
waving our sheets at friends,
making them run through halls
into torture chambers, where
the Iron Maiden hugged one
to her heart, and the rack
celebrated stretching their necks
and torsos, until even death
was impressed, showed up.
When that became dull, we
threw on old rags, thrust
our arms in front of ourselves,
moaning like zombies, actually
gaining a hunger for brains
we wished to pull out of skulls,
tasting blood for the first time.
It was only when we transformed
into werewolves that our pals
bought sliver bullets, when
all we did was wear thick furs,
when we didn't even follow
them, just lurked underneath
moonlit windows, howling
at a light we barely understood,
how the wounds that bore through
our chests formed the shapes
of stars, telling our future in
the way they moved their fires.