She paints a pretty picture,
But this story has a twist,
Her paint brush is a razor,
And her canvas is her wrist,
She paints her pretty picture
In a colour that's blood red,
While using her sharp paint brush,
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 her pretty picture,
But her picture had a twist,
You see her mind was her razor,
And her heart was her wrist.
YOU ARE READING
Quote book 2
CasualeCause you can't have more than 200 parts apparently I'll be doing aa second quote book. Warning: there will be swearing, depressing stuff, and my opinions so please do not read if you get easily offended or are easily triggered.
