She paints a pretty picture,
But the picture has a twist.
The paintbrush is a razor,
And the canvas is her wrist.

She paints all day,
She paints all night.
Until the work is done.
But when the time comes,
We all know.
That she won't see the sun.

You see, she cared too much,
And she cut too deep.
So that way she could Finally sleep.
Pills for sleep and blades for pain,
we may never see her again.

Cuz she paints a pretty picture,
but the picture has a twist.
the paintbrush is a blade,
and the canvas is her wrist.

She hides it well under her clothes.
But her fake smile,
we all know those.

She just gave up cuz nobody tried.
She yelled And screamed
but nobody cried.

Until the day when she said she
couldn't take it anymore.
And the love of her life found her
dead on the floor.