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she is a lovely painter
but this story has a twist
her paint brush is a razor
and her paper is her wrist

she paints a pretty picture
in a color blood red
because of her sharp paintbrush
she ends up finally dead

Her pretty pictures fading
quite slowly on her arm
because of her current state
she can no longer do any harm
the first verse is not mine  !
anxiety comes as a haywire mind
a situation in your head
worlds away from everyone
words unsaid
scared to be anyone, much less yourself

but most of all
it comes
and it never really leaves.

— The End —