Poem
She paints a pretty picture
But her story has a twist
Her paintbrush is a razor
And her canvas is her wrist
She paints a pretty picture
In a colour that's blood red
While using her sharp paintbrush
She ends up finally dead
Her pretty picture fading
Quite slowly on her arm
The blood is not racing through her
She can no longer do harm
She painted a pretty picture
But her story had a twist
You see her mind was her razor
And her heart was her wrist
First poem of this book!!!! I know this one by heart so this is why I chose that one. Anyway I'll be posting wayyyyy more of these so just you wait 😉
ILYSM guys 💛💛💛
Oink! 🐷
