dear pooboy

i was just laying in bed thinking about all of the poison seeping out of all of the pores of all of the people in this world.  about the venom that spits from our mouths and poisons us, making us hallucinate and speak in tongues.  finding myself guilty of this, just by simple thought of it, i found myself feeling closer to my brothers and sisters.
just then, the front door of the house opened and immediately slammed shut as footsteps hurried up the staircase below me.  two bodies.  one seemed to carry on toward the kitchen, while the other grew closer to the door of the bedroom i was in.  i was laying next to the window with three heavy blankets atop me; even though they felt light.  the body stopped at the door and sniffed all around it as if it were hunting me.  
...it was john.
he opened the door and his face and head were exposed, while everything else was bundled to battle the great outdoors.  
he was a werewolf.
"what happened to you?", i asked him.
"i'm not sure", he replied.
it didn't seem to phase us that this had happened to him, as not much hasn't happed, and we were very awere of this.
the room was now lit from the street light and that from the distant bathroom, two rooms down the hall from the room i was in.
john came in and sat down.  he didn't say anything and he didn't even look at me.  he was just a werewolf on a chair in the room with me.  
i took my eyes off of him and stared at the ceiling.  i pretended i was jesse.  i felt full of comfort from the werewolf, and he appeared full too, for he stood up and walked out of the room.
i was there alone with my thoughts again, which i now pretended were jesse's thoughts instead.