(Thought this was beautiful, jus t wanted people to see it)
She can paint a lovely picture
But the story has a twist
Her paintbrush is her razor
And her canvas is her wrist
She paints a pretty picture
In a colour that's blood red
While using her sharp paint brush
She finally ends up dead
Her pretty picture fading
Quite slowly on her arm
The blood is not racing through her
She can no longer do harm
She paints her pretty picture
But her story has a twist
You see her mind was her razor
And heart was a wrist
