I can paint lovely pictures,
With blood red ink,
The lines swirl together,
but its not what you think.

There's a twist in this story,
A tiny little sin,
My paintbrush my razor,
My canvas my skin.

My wrists cry tears,
They stain my arms red,
The blood loss and pain,
Is getting to my head.

I see black spots,
And twinkling stars,
They look like the galaxy,
A view from mars.

My walls stained crimson,
My bed splattered red,
My beautiful carpet,
Scarlet like my bed.

I regret everything,
All the things I've done,
This is why I'm doing this,
Why I'm holding this gun.

For no matter how much I try,
I can't stifle the ache and need,
I tried so hard to be perfect,
And I so nearly did succeed.

But now the torment will end,
I can finally be free,
No one can judge my imperfections,
And I can be just me.