She can paint a pretty picture but this story has a twist, her paintbrush is a razor and her canvas is her wrist. She paints her pretty picture in a color thats blood red, Using her sharp pain brush she finally ends up dead. Her pretty pictures fading, quite slowly on her arm. The bloods not racing through her, she can no longer do harm. she painted her pretty picture, but her picture had a twist, her mind was her razor and her heart was her wrist.
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