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 he sharp paint brush
She finally ends up 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 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
Suicide, depressed, self harm quotes
PoetryTRIGGER WARNING. Complete. I don't own these poems. I might occasionally write my own idk. Pm me if ya need.
