She paints a pretty picture, but the story has a twist.

Her paint brush is a razor, and her canvas is her wrist.

Her pretty picture is in a color that’s blood red,

She keeps painting, until she ends up dead.

The pretty picture’s fading, quite slowly on her arm,

But don’t worry, she can no longer do any harm.

It’s funny because her pretty picture had a twist,

Her mind was her razor and her heart was her wrists.