The whispers had reigned in continuance
In the thought of anguish, the voices elapsed
Insanity became nature
Eclipsing the shutters of a fleeing light
Distasteful to the luxury of respiration
Inundated by a guilty verdict
One appointed by self
Inept to a peripatetic passage
To bygones of sorrows and disarray
Remorseless to a past-due repentance
Swelled by a lustful passion
Of a feather saturated in ink
Smeared on a ledger
Illustrating an estranged self
Of philautia, it seeks
“The return to the den”