How about I draw a picture, one with a twist. A knife as my paintbrush, my canvas, my wrist.
How about I write a book, written in spattered red, a book when the final chapters ends up with me dead.
How about I make up a story that starts with, once upon a time, but there's no happily ever after beacuse this story's mine.
How about I tell a tale of a girl, who's destined to met her fate, and when she realizes who she loves, sadly it's to late.
How about I jots down a note, making sure you know why, I had to end it for me, with the final word as goodbye.
How about I draw a picture, one with a twist. A knife as my paintbrush, my canvas, my wrist.
Author Notes: I'm not proud.
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United States • 22 years old