Don't Tell Me, Just Be

Twenty years ago I had a friend
who liked being outrageous.
He would discomfort me
and made me laugh at the same time,
with the same comment.

He encouraged me a lot as well.

I remember well how I felt
when he first joked
about wanting his doctor to be
the then infamous serial killer
Dr Harold Shipman.

Stories of what Shipman had done
horrified straight society,
though it was the quietness
and charm with which he killed
that appalled them most.

They could not accept
how charm turned toxic.

Now I understand much more
about how my friend wanted
his final escape from this life
to be so quiet that even the signs
of the preparation for his departure
were kept outside of his awareness,
as he was unknowingly done away with.

Now I want the same thing too.
I have the courage to live alone,
and I know the fear of loneliness
is worse than loneliness itself,
but for somebody to quietly
fulfil my final departure
would be most welcome.