Darkest Days

The white blanket

now ravaged—a victim of conformity,

lay wasted heaped in a corner

of the cellar.

My only comfort in darkness now gone,

fatality to my own vices.

Vanity and greed, and lust—

lust.

The lust found only at a brothel

during midnight hours, where men

prance like packs of outcast lions.

And I alone in my room tonight

am left with nothing to cover these sins,

the sins of regret and vicarious nature;

sins even misplaced solace

could never cover in its brightest hour.