She paints a pretty picture,
But the story has a twist.
Her paintbrush is a razor,
And her canvas is her wrist.
In a colour that's blood red.
While using her sharp paintbrush,
She ends up finally dead.
Her pretty pictures fading,
Quite slowly on her arm.
The blood is not running through her,
She can no longer do harm.
She painted a pretty picture,
But her picture had a twist,
You see her mind was her razor,
And her heart was her wrist.
YOU ARE READING
Sad poems to make you cry
PoetryJust some sad poems that might make you cry. Please don't read if you think it will make you too upset.
