She paints a pretty picture
But the picture has a twist
You see, the brush is her razor
And her canvas is her wrist
The paint is ruby red
It covers the floor
The can't paint much longer
She mustn't paint much more
She paints a pretty picture
It's one of a kind
When the wrist is her heart
And the razor her mind
YOU ARE READING
Ramblings Of The Minds Eye
PoetryThoughts spilt onto the flesh of books, creating the blood and soul of the story, and the message of the heart transfered to a subliminal text
