Set Him Free

i lead him,
hands intertwined,
to the lake,
tell him to drink,
that he’ll be
happy once more.

but he won’t,
self-hatred and
self-destruction is
as much an addiction,
as pills washed down
by dark liquor.

addictions blur
the already hazy lines,
is this a craving or
is this a need?
will our hearts
stop beating
without it?
would that be
such a bad thing?

who would i be
if i didn’t hate myself?
who would he be
if he got off the carousel,
and started living life?
would we still be a we?
should we even co-exist?

i tell him to drink,
but he won’t,
and that’s it,
i can’t make him drink,
but that’s not enough,
not for me,
selfishness and
selflessness swirl
together because I
need him to be happy
because he deserves it,
and is that such a crime,
to want to make him
the happiest man on Earth?
even if I can’t deny
that would make it
easier for me.

i push his head
under water,
and he still
won’t drink,
the stubborn,
vindictive bastard,
and finally he drowns,
so i walk away
feelish oddly
accomplished because
even though it wasn’t
in the way i meant it,
we are both free
of his incessant sadness.

probably we were
never meant to be.

© Richela Rosales Maroto 2018

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