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.