She paints a pretty picture but the story has a twist, her paint brush is a razor and her canvas is her wrist. She paints her pretty picture in a color that's blood red, while using her sharp paint brush she ends up finally dead. Her pretty pictures fading, quite slowly on her arm. The blood is no longer racing through her, she can no longer do harm. She painted a pretty picture, but her picture had a twist. You see her mind was her razor and her heart was her wrist.
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Book of Many Poems
PoetryThis book is just some of my favorite poems. If they are a quote I wrote then it will say so in the title otherwise they are not mine.
