Macabre Artist

She paints a pretty picture
But this picture has a twist
Her paint brush is a razor
And her canvas is her wrist
This artwork consists or one color
The only color she could think
That lonely color is but red
Not orange, green, or pink
The red appears in slashes
Giving an abstract view
What was left of her soul
Away it flew
This artist had a liking
To different art indeed
For the art was on herself
And the pain was a need
Everday, no matter what
More would be added to the art
Continuing to break, to shatter
Her already crippled heart