Brush Strokes

She paints a pretty picture,
but the story has a twist.
The paint brush is a razor
the canvas is her wrist.
She adds a little texture,
with the teardrops from her eyes.
The paint brush digs a little deeper,
and uncovers dirty lies.
The crying becomes abundant,
the gasps for air becoming more,
She collapses on the ground,
her mother standing at the door.
Lights flashed,
Men were masked,
She really tried,
Momma cried.
She paints a pretty picture,
with her smiles and gleaming eyes,
She killed herself yesterday,
To nobody's surprise.

*THINKING OF A DIFFERENT ENDING*