Killer, an ex-navy fighter pilot,
With a huge, friendly personality,
Who loves his drink,
Excitedly insisted we join him.
Killer was a good thinker and a better doer.
Deals and discussions were always friendly
But we were not really close,
Except when he was into the bottle.
I’d been here before,
And like Cassandra,
Know the ending,
Unable to do anything but watch.
Watch him become a user,
An inveterate liar,
A danger to others
And a self-annihilator .
Is there a hint of superiority in my lamentation?
A lack of discomfort in the misery of another?
A failure to enter and share the pain?
An acceptance of my claim that “I helped enough”?
In the end I take satisfaction in two beliefs;
One, “being there ” is better than reading about it,
And, two, I will be standing longer.
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