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 colour that is blood red
While using her sharp paintbrush
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
A/N
HEY GUYS!
I am so sorry but I removed my other book 'The voice of an angel' because I don't know what to do with it. But I will go on with this book and maybe re publish that book later on.
Anyway this is my work and I will not tolerate it if my work has been taken from me.
-Raven Black
