Her beautiful painting is always with her,
And her tool always calls her name,
Even though she try's to ignore,
She cant help but to obey,
She grab hers tool,
And sits down on the bed,
And lays out her paper,
And suddenly starts to cry,
Oh beautiful painting,
Why does it hurt so bad,
Why does this always happen to me,
Why am I so different,
Why does everything happen to me,
As she cries and paints her painting,
She realized she had painted to far,
She looks down and realizes that her paper was her wrist,
Her paint was her blood,
And her tool was a blade,
She starts to cry and says,
You were supposed to be beautiful,
But now you are just my terror of death...