Twist in her Story

Just a cut.

Just a scratch.

“What’s the mark?”

It was my cat.

She paints a pretty picture,

But the story has a twist.

Her paintbrush is her razor,

and her canvas is her wrist.

Just an excuse.

Just a lie.

“What’s with all the bracelets?”

Just fashion, why?

She paints her pretty picture,

in a colour that’s blood red.

Just a tear.

Just a scream.

“Why were you crying?”

Oh just a bad dream.

While using her sharp paintbrush,

She ends up dead.

Her pretty pictures fading,

quite slowly on her arm.

The blood is not racing through her,

She can no longer do harm.

But it’s not just a cut, a tear, or a lie…

It’s always ‘Just one more’ until you die.

She painted a pretty picture,

But her picture had a twist.

You see…

Her mind was her razor,

And her heart was her wrist.