Haunted in one word at a time

What am I if not a disbeliever of my own virtue
What am I if not a fool of my own vices
Here I lie awake, in the hound of the night
Recounting the silent steps towards an untimely end
Reliving the memories of whatever makes me feel alive
The silhouette, the glances, the voices
Oh especially the voices that used to tickle my heart
A heart that still weeps at the mere mentions of you