Nothing Left* … 1512-12

I fear the silent day when I am but an empty shell when heart aches, hands shake and I have nothing left to sell bobble on drift wood debris like a husk or empty shell when oft I mumble to myself and I have nothing left to tell days lost to stupor long the cold hacking nights to my dim wet eyes festivity? nothing left in lights awake only a moment to the tinkle of a tossed dime fumble to scrape it up there is nothing left to rhyme days and nights clot in an endless wrenching strife someone trod my fingers there is nothing left in life someone threw a pack reeking with gooey slime it splattered by my address I've nothing left but time