Shakespearean sonnet THE PAINTING It looked majestic, different from usual Like a breath of fresh air, pulling me in It took my savings and a ritual. For just a painting, it felt like a sin On the wall, it hung, in front of my bed A woman whose beauty I can’t forget. Seduced I was by the lady in red. Something so toxic, like a minor threat The burning ember, doused by a cold fire. As the woman slithered out the painting Crawling towards me, with a face so ire I can feel myself slowly succumbing. Was all that just a dream? It felt so real. But why can I see my body from here?
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