Her 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 her pretty picture
In a color thats blood red

While using her sharp paint brush
She ends up finally dead
Her pretty pictures 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.