~Pretty Picture~
She paints a pretty picture,
But the story has a twist,
Her paintbrush is a razor,
And her canvas is her wrist,
She paints a pretty picture,
In a color that's blood red,
While using the sharp paint brush,
She winds up finally dead,
Her pretty picture is falling,
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 the picture has a twist,
You see her friend was her razor,
And her heart was her wrist.
YOU ARE READING
Sadness Taking over
Poetry**Edit** This book is about 2 years old, I am in the works of going through it to make it better. It's full of all my sad poetry I used to write. Its rhyming poetry by the way. Read if you want and if you like it click that voting button. Love you g...
