Pretty picture
She paints a pretty pictureBut the story has a twistHer paint brush is a razor And her canvas is her wrist She paints her pretty pictureIn a color that's blood redWhile using the sharp paint brushShe ends up finally dead's Her pretty picture fadingQuite slowly on her armThe blood is not racing through her She can no longer do harmShe painted her pretty pictureBut her picture had a twist You see her mind was a razorAnd her heart was her wrist
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