'She's Painting A Pretty Picture,
But Here's The Twist,
The Paintbrush Is A Razor,
And The Canvas Is Her Wrist.'
She's Never Known Love,
Ever In Her Life.
You Were New To Her,
Like A Suprize...
She Needed You,
You Needed Her,
Both Complete Amatures.
You Didn't Know Love,
Knor Need it,
But Took Love For Granted,
She Trusted You.
Now Your Gone,
She's Lost It,
With A Gun In Her Hand,
And Will In Another.
She Will Pull The Trigger,
You Know That Is True,
She Calls Out To You,
In Pain... A Desperate call,
For Help...
Love Is All She Ever Needed,
Know All She Knows Is Hate...
With The Gun Up To Her Head,
What Is...Her Fate?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem