She paints a pretty picture
But this story has a twist
The paintbrush is a razor
Her 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 picture is fading
Quite slowly on her arm
The blood is no longer racing through her
She no longer can do any harm
She painted her pretty picture
But the story has a twist
You see her mind was the razor
And her heart was her wrist.
YOU ARE READING
Sad/happy poems. DO NOT READ STOLEN FROM OTHERS!!!!!!
PoesiePoems for the soul These Poems were stolen from this girls Mother who has hand written copies and wrote them back in the 90s. I have gained access to her account and will be informing WattPad of her stealing others work and will be informing her mo...
