Bystander

While you quietly watched,

my lover crawled up my throat

like a blossoming rose,

thorns nailing my tongue as I suffocated.

His rage was a storm that fed

the parasitic but beautiful flower,

a deluge of dizzying words meant

to crush me further.

But not so dizzying that they

couldn't be seen for the inclement

weather they were by anyone truly watching.

And you were—watching, that is.

But you would say nothing.

Even when I desperately tried

to meet your eyes, pleading for help.

You would say nothing.

To me. To him.

Nothing.

You never interrupted.

Often, you'd walk away,

leaving me to deal with the forces

of nature waging war alone

and often he'd use your silence

as a weapon against me since

that must mean that he was right

if my own friend did not speak up for me.

And it is difficult to admit that in me,

there will always be both inner child

and adult is crying out in tandem to you,

one who I had protected so many times before:

Why did you not protect me

when I couldn't protect myself?

Why did you leave me alone?

Why did you choose to be a bystander

in the destruction of myself?