The Slow Descent into Dementia

Bound and left for the beasts,
what awaits is no end
No shade finds my flesh,
and the catching fibers
are slowly burnt to a crisp
And such a darkness,
the vision of my eyes,
Whatever lies ahead
The rotting time,
The old home of my mind...
the dust and asbestos
that corrodes
what fragments remain.
left for my demons-
I'm simply waiting for time
to drag me away and down,
for the rotting feast...
to begin waiting
for this life
to fade away
with every bite.