It is always a startling surprise <br />When the first fragile rays <br />Of another sunrise <br />Peak through the window blinds <br />And I’m still alive. <br /> <br />I’ve spun so many meditations of suicide <br />Through my tormented mind <br />That I feel like a weaver <br />Of mortuary fantasies. <br /> <br />From my early teens, <br />I’ve been plagued <br />With death and poetry dreams. <br /> <br />I thought it would be over <br />When I reached thirty-three, <br />I thought it would be achieved, <br />My self-destruction at the age <br />Of Christ crucified. <br /> <br />But thirty-three came and went <br />And I failed to find my desired demise; <br />Now, at forty-one I’ve become <br />A hollow man, a foggy ghost <br />Gradually burning off in the sunlight <br />That shines for another <br />And not for me… <br /> <br />Anymore, I walk around half-dazed <br />And I can’t find anything left to kill.<br /><br />Uriah Hamilton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-can-t-find-anything-left-to-kill/
