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