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a twisted picture
she paints a pretty picture
but her picture has a twist
you see her paint brush is her razor
and her canvas is her wrist
she paints in red
a color as red as her blood
with each stroke
the pian is now slowly growing
with her sharp littl brush
spilling color from her canvas
she pains deeper and deeper
her pretty picture
now becoming more and more visible
from the pain she has gone through
its clear to see shes not as happy as she seems
death finally came
ending all the pain
the picture she painted
now quite slowly fading
as the paint still runs
as the body still lays
she painted a pretty picture
but her picture had a twist
her mind was her razor
and her heart was her wrist
i got the idea from another poem i read and i used the quote "she painted
a pretty picture but her picture had a twist you see her paint brush is her
razor and her canvas is her wrist"
