Skint

Feel the indigence approaching 
Think of no-one and of nothing else
Heart-breaking, all consuming
Penniless pauper, from a storybook romance

“No mon, no fun”
I hear that
No nothing, no life
No growing full or fat

Who to turn to, who to run from
Incipient pauperdom permeates every thought
A threadbare mind to match threadbare costume
Unravelled, patchy, overwhelmingly fraught

Never overburdened with wealth 
But enough to cover simple costs like clothes and heat and food
It should never have to come to this but it has
Only I can lay the blame upon myself

Not a lifetime of jeremiads
Some better stories were once told
Those times a yellowed memory now 
Heart and soul, languid, limp and sere

Reduced to meagre, mere being
No possessions means no feeling
We all know that.
Pride as spent as the money itself
How poor, truly sorry
A pauper born, God help me

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