• She can paint a pretty picture.
    But this story has a twist.
    Her brush is her razor.
    And her canvas is her wrist..

    The picture stays hidden
    From all the judging eyes
    Her words have been forbidden
    They all come out as lies

    She'll try to erase the paint
    And stare at the stained line
    She'll cry about the pain
    But tell herself she's fine

    She'll give you a fake smile
    And pretend to be okay
    But inside she's dying
    Glad she made it through the day

    The fight will continue
    The struggle of her life
    She keeps adding to the picture
    With a dull edged knife