She brings me down. She makes me feel heavy. She frowns.
Her cold body doesn’t move an inch while I paint her. She sighs from her porcelain white chest.
“Why do you do this to me, baby?” She doesn’t say a thing in reply, just sighs.
She makes a great model. She sits there, not moving, acting like she’s dead.
I remember when she was my sister in a past life. I would find her sitting on a ledge, watching the sunset, fire and water in her eyes. She lorded over me, rejecting all of my criticisms with bleak stares. I lorded over her, and her words never penetrated my heart.
She lords over me now, blocking all of my heart from life.