Memory.

Some nights, I listen to you drown yourself inside my mind.
I see the flood come up through your hands and wash away your capacity, and as you go numb, I take the pain you push away. It flows into my chest as I watch you abandon your body, your screams immortalized in a mosaic of stained glass and anguish, both beautiful and terrible.
Worst of all, I don't stop you, and your potential seeps slowly into the atmosphere, a negligible tribute offered up to the ice cold laws of physics.