Land of the Soul

Hard twine would wrap upon your misbegotten soul and scrape together a land of dark tinged soil. 

The water there falls quiet over the end of the world to a place where the twine could never hope to follow.

Down into the dark it falls and deep does it scatter much unlike this twine which can only ever cinch tighter. 

Light used to descended through the holes like a fire men’s ladder but the holes in the sky are gone now. Light is no fighter. 

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