She felt like a horseshoe around her neck.
To live with her was a struggle, a lie.
She couldn’t move left or right.
She fed her with compliments and praise.
She despised herself for sounding false.
For taming the bestiality of her friend.
Her backbone was shrinking amongst her disintegrating flesh.
She tasted of fear and anticipation.
The friend swallowed every word she uttered.
Shoving her into corners, crippling her further with every single day.
Her satisfaction is always momentary.
She needs to work hard to keep the tormentor fulfilled.
She slides into every background.
All of her light shines onto her friend who knows no gratitude and empathy.
She thinks there is no way out.
She is convinced her friend would appreciate her in death.
When she hit the very bottom of her desperation and self-loss,
She looked up and saw the strings of her friend,
The snorting smile of a fiend, ever-hungry, and she came to her senses.
I put her there. I gave her the power.
The strings pulled around her own neck.
Cerisia shifted from object to subject.
True states recovered. Cerisia does not need the misery of others to feel good.
And thus she walked away from the hole that her friend had put her in to decompose.
“The Daughter’s Portrait” by Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun (1755-1842)