Languish

A mental innocence.
A choice to believe.
A choice of ignorance.
A hope to fade.
The dimming light shining on the lone path; a bond stretching beyond its elasticity. The shadows softly cast behind the bushes and the woods, the huge round moon peeking above the treetops, a dim, ambient light illuminating the surroundings.
A cold wind whispering into my ear.
Temperatures are falling.
The coerced simplicity of the mind tells that night is falling. But it’s not a normal night. It’s a night which will plunge into an abyss of darkness, deeper than the ends of the earth.
There will be no end.
Soft moonlight replaces the warm sun, and there’s no more warmth in the air.
No street lamps, no fires, no torches.
There’s inequity. A scathing blade hidden in the shadows. See the world from your own eyes, and the darkness conceals something even darker than you can see.
The tip of a sharp knife reflects a fraction of the moonlight. It’s glowing in the darkness.
The thumping of the heart weakens.
A failing strength.
A stronger menace.
A mental choice.
Innocence is ignorance.
The truth is there.
Outside, beside, around me.
A surge of willpower, or maybe a loosening of grip.
Following the path, make the step of faith.
Whether it’ll reach the tip of world; whether it’ll wind back into tangibility; whether it’ll choose to stop.
A power to have.

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