She paints a pretty picture,
But her story has a twist-

Her paint brush is a razor
And her canvas is her wrist

She paints a pretty picture
In a color that’s blood red
While using her sharp paint brush
She ends up finally dead

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

She painted her pretty picture
But her picture had a twist-
You see her mind was her razor

And her heart was her wrist