Set a timer for ten minutes, feel free to go over if you're on a roll, and just start writing. Anything. Let it flow out.
A thought that never ends and a word without a story, ink without a pen and triumph without glory. The victory days are over.
The sun shines its light on the fresh blood spilt from the earth, and it glistens and screams "I am beautiful, I am dead."
The acedia is beginning to settle in, and it smells of an eglantine nightmare shining under the sky whose blue cannot be escaped. Behind their eyes there is death. At their lips grow cypress.
The world has begun to wilt. The will has begun to shrivel. The blackened corners of their existence call out to dreams of illumination and remind them of the shadows.
What lacks is clear from what remains, the sentences unfinished, the apathy of a soul, the whispers of silence.
The sun rises to steal sight, it lavishes in the eyes put to little use, eyes that shut away life and let it enter through windows, eyes that grow hemlock and smile away the world.
The acedia is dying, and with it we die.
The victory days are over.
The sun shall rise.
Edit: umm, just as a note, I'm not a 9. I just like the concept of acedia.