I walk with despair
Its cold hand upon my shoulder
Whispering sweet decay

A spector who judges
Not just my actions
But the hidden thoughts
Locked behind doors

No matter the strength
Of the padlock
Or the material
The miasma of regret steels through

He is with me
.and sweetly... disgustingly
Encloses me in his arms
A cradle of my failure
To weave in and out of my being