I'm Laesis
- Reads 225
- Votes 18
- Parts 5
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 that's blood red,
While using a sharp paintbrush,
She ends up finally dead.
Her pretty pictures slowly 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 just her wrist.
Beautiful cover by @shadowsinthestars
All Rights Reserved
#257
yinyang
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i drew a butterfly on my wrist, in hopes that this feeling would no longer persist, but things got bad and i started to cry, so the butterfly on my wrist had to die. once again i tried to set myself free, but it seems my thoughts have stolen the key, so this butterfly lived a short life, killed with fear, and a very sharp knife. -b.g [lower case intended.]
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