Something like deep madness. Something like an illusion, something…
Born from his own reverie, he wandered through oozy moors like a shade, like a thought caught up in perdition’s palm. Dim lights were floating above him like times of yore and the path was studded with scornful scowls and sneering words.
Those everlasting whispers that fulfilled his mind with purls of ancient glooms mingled now freely besides him snarling as he was passing by.
Not day, nor light. Not night, nor murk.
Only fading hours of a forgotten epoch where seconds stood for centuries and centuries stood for nothing.

For my beloved oblivion...