I paint a pretty picture
But to this story
Theres a twist
Instead of a paintbrush
Theres a razor
And my canvos is my wrist
No one understands
My paintings are pretty as a rose
All my pictures are red
Sometimes traced
Most people see the wrong in it
When u see me u cry
Now i cry when i see ur face
But when i paint my pretty pictures
I should hide them better
YOU ARE READING
how i feel
Poésieno one is alone on how they feel theres others that feels the same thing
