I'm Laesis

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