She paints a lovely picture,
But the story had a twist.
The paint brush is a razor,
And the 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 picture fading,
Quite slowly on her arm.

The blood is not racing through her,
She can no longer 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.

----------------------------------------------------

Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Sugar is sweet,
And so are you.

But the roses have wilted,
And the violets are dead.
The sugar bowl is empty,
And my wrist are stained RED.

----------------------------------------------------

They'll check your wrist but not you thighs.
They'll hear you laughs but not your cries.

Smile much, laugh loud, make jokes and lies,
And they won't see the depression in your eyes.

Just keep calm and starve yourself,
You need to be pretty, forget about your health.

Go look in the mirror on the wall,
We need to be skin, thin, and tall.

Another cut upon your thigh,
One step closer to say goodbye.

----------------------------------------------------

 I've got scars on my body and stories that I will never tell.