Poetry Of The Forgotten

pretty picture

She paints a pretty picture,
but the story has a twist.
her paintbrush is a razor,
and the canvas is her wrist.
she paints her pretty picture,
in a color that's blood red.
while using her sharp paintbrush,
she ends up finally dead.
her pretty pictures fading,
quite slowly on her arm.
the blood is not racing through her,
she can no longer do harm.
she painted her pretty picture,
but her story has a twist.
you see.....
her mind was her razor,
and her heart was her wrist.