Did you hear me?

She paints a pretty picture

She paints a pretty picture,

But her 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