You Can Lead a Horse to Water (but You Can’t Make It Heal)

You are vanishing.
Not gone—
not yet.
But your outline softens daily,
like smoke against the glass.
Like something once solid
melting into something
I can’t hold anymore.

Your eyes used to recognise me.
Now they flicker
with someone else’s need.
Someone else’s ache.
Someone else’s ruin
dressed up in your skin.

You speak
in half-lies
and hungry tremors.
You laugh
when nothing is funny.
You swear
you’re in control—
but even your shadow knows better.

There’s rot blooming in your lungs.
Your teeth are stained
with every promise
you couldn’t keep.
And your body—
once strong,
once yours—
is now just
a vessel for escape.

I have tried
to carry your weight.
To feed you hope
like medicine.
To build bridges
between your wreckage
and whatever still stood.

But you never crossed.
You never wanted to.

And I—
God, I drowned
in the trying.
I begged the water
to become wine.
I lit myself on fire
just to keep you
from shivering.

But help doesn’t help
when it’s not wanted.
Love can’t compete
with the high.
And I have screamed
your name
in every language I know—
but nothing reaches
whatever is left
of you.

You are a cathedral
crumbled.
A map
to nowhere.
A miracle I prayed for
until my voice broke.

And I am tired.
Tired of watching you
choose death
by a thousand small apathies.
Tired of pretending
this ends with redemption.
Tired of holding on
to a ghost
who won’t admit he’s dead.

I have watched you vanish
one heartbeat at a time.
And still—
if you reached for me,
if you truly meant it—
I would try again.
I would always try again.

But you don’t.
You never do.
You just smile
with your teeth
full of ruin
and say,
"Let go."

And this time,
I think I will.

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