Pretty Picture

She paints a pretty picture
But this story has a twist
You see, her paintbrush is a razor
And her canvas is her wrist

She paints a pretty picture
In color that's a blood red
While using her sharp paintbrush
She ends up finally dead

Her pretty picture fading
Quite slowly on her arm
The blood is not racing through her
She can no longer do any harm

She painted her pretty picture
But her pretty picture has a twist
Her mind was the razor
And her heart was just the wrist


P.s: I'm not the one who wrote this poem, i just love it...
Adella Ludiant W.
XI SCIENCE 2