OLD ROPE FOR MONEY

I feel the sucking at my knees,
the draining of reality,
which claws its way over my thighs
to gnaw upon vitality.

Try as I may, I cannot catch
the demon so intent to squeeze
the life from me that it may snatch
my spirit with its smiling lies.

I know I’m just another batch
yet drag my terror out of bed
slow slouch to where the vampires latch
spitting universal credit.