she paints a pretty picture,
but the story has a twist,
her paint brush is a razor
and her canvas is her wrist,
she paints her pretty picture,
in a colour thats 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 self harm,
she painted her pretty picture,
but her picture had a twist,
you see her mind was a razor
and her heart was her wrist.