WE FEAR REJECTION,
WANT ATTENTION,
CRAVE AFFECTION
AND DREAM OF PERFECTION!
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He paints a picture
But the story has a twist,
His paintbrush is his razor 

And his canvas is his wrist,
He paints his picture
In a colour that's blood red

While using his sharp paintbrush 
He ends up finally dead

His pictures fading 
Quite slowly on his arm
The blood is not racing through him
He can no longer do harm

He painted his picture
But his picture had a twist
You see his mind was his razor 
And his heart was his wrist!
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