He’s stepping into dementia, but taking a winding course. Coming and going, making circles in the sky. Squares in the sand. He’s drinking putrid water. Feeding on tomorrow, spitting out the lies. Mandible bruised. Starvation setting in. Pits and seeds growing in his mouth. Soil in his esophagus. Acid in his veins. Pouring into water. Splashing liquid fire. Splishing; Splashing. Dripping into his brain. Filling his cranial cavity. Exploding his wasted mind. Chunks of indecision. Replace confidence holey. Little bits of dilemma swarm the empty space. Terror and style find new company to face. Joined as one, they tear him apart. No chance for survival. No second thoughts.