As time creaks on
I start to fear
What will happen
When the end is near.
There's nothing wrong with me yet
No need to panic
I'm not going crazy
From my normal to manic.
But when I die
I want it to be quick
Scared of suffering
Terminally sick.
If ever that happens
I don't want to linger
Time to go
With the flick of a finger.
Is it too much to ask
To turn off a switch
A painless death
Without a hitch.
I don't want to suffer
Right to the end
Give me the option
Of a man's best friend.
One last farewell
A time to say goodbye
Small prick of a needle
A bit of a cry.
At the moment you can only do this
If you're comfortable or rich
Flying off to Switzerland
When pain's too much of a bitch.
Poor people like me
Have only the nearest bridge
If we want to die with dignity
To sleep in a mortuary fridge.
You preach "god's" will
Saying your prayer
Watching me dosed up with morphine
As if you care.
Pumping my body
With a multitude of drugs
Prolonging my suffering
From white coated thugs.
You warn me of Harold Shipmans
Stalking the ward
Well just let me take my chances
And die of my own accord.
Dulwich Poet 16th July 2014
(I wrote this after a phone-in on LBC Radio, about support from some bishops on assisting dying)
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