She paints a pretty picture,
But this picture has a twist. You see her paintbrush is a razor, and her canvas is her wrist. She paints her pretty picture in a color that's blood red, while using her sharp paintbrush she ends up finally dead. Her pretty pictures fading; quite slowly on her arm. The blood is no longer racing through her, she can no longer do no harm. She painted her pretty picture, but her picture had a twist; you see her mind was the razor, and her heart
was just her wrist.