Pretty Picture

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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 color that is blood red.

While using her sharp paint brush.
She ends up finally dead.

Her pretty picture fading.
Quietly slowly on her arm.

The blood no longer racing through her.
She can no longer do harm.

She painted her pretty picture. G
But her picture had a twist.

You see,
Her mind was the razor.
Her heart was her wrist.

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