The Lady In The Portrait

The sweet smile, and a morbid love,
I never knew, what changed my mind,
But when I drew her on my canvas,
It was night for me, and sunshine for her.

I tried, to make the colors look alive,
But she was adamant, made me look grim,
I reasoned with her, and then a long walk,
But nothing would change, for she was mine.

I drew her, a damsel in distress,
I drew her, for I loved her face more,
The colors were alive, and vibrant with fear,
Then a scream, when my true colors came alive.

Was it the noose, or the blade,
I couldn't tell but she screamed,
She called me crazy, a compliment,
When I let her dangle on her life.

She was captured, never to be free,
She was enslaved, within my dreams,
Then with a chilling shrill, she broke free,
Death became her solace.

I tried reason, but she would't listen,
I tried love, but she would't understand,
For all she saw was a withering cloud,
Under the shadow of a new dream.

Then finally to capture her,
To enslave her within my portrait,
I tightened my noose and swung my knife,
Until not a red drop would remain.

Judge me