The Bystander Effect
I taste the flowers on the floor,
smashed beneath your boot, and
choke
on their heady perfume,
finding it difficult to inhale
broken petals.
They are a puddle of
crushed velvet,
soft
like the stillness after you
breathe away
the steadiness of your spine
and allow your shoulders to curl
inward.
You don’t let me touch
the wisteria
still tangled in your hair,
so I watch it weep.
Violet tears drift to the ground,
weightless in their untethered freedom,
and stain our floors.
I drown as I try to
swallow their gravity
before
their perfume fades.
Copyright © Eliza Farley | Year Posted 2021
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