Her Pretty Picture- Poem

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HER PRETTY PICTURE

She paints a pretty picture

But her picture has a twist

You see, the paintbrush is her razor

And her canvas is her wrists

She paints her pretty picture

In a color that's blood red

While using her sharp paintbrush

She ends up finally dead

Her pretty picture's fading

Quite slowly on her arm

The blood's 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 her razor

And her heart was her wrist

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Author Unknown

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