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xhavexfaithx:

 

“She can paint a lovely picture
But this story has a twist
Her paint brush is a razor
And her canvas is her wrist.”

this is the second half of the poem:

“She paints her pretty picture
In a color thats blood red
While using her sharp painbrush
She ends up finally dead
Her pretty pictures 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 the razor
And her heart was just her wrist”

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