"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 is blood red

While using her sharp paintbrush 
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" 

~Unknown


"I'm breathing but in reality am I really alive?"