Pretty pictures

She paints a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
Her paint brush is a razor

And her canvas is her wrist
She paints her pretty picture
In a colour that’s blood-red

While using her sharp paint brush
She ends up finally dead
Her pretty picture’s fading

Quite slowly on her arm
The blood is not racing through her
She can no longer do harm

She painted her pretty picture
But her story has a twist
You see her mind was her razor

And her heart was her wrist..

Those are the most powerful words I have ever read. Somehow it stops me from harming myself or committing suicide. Every time I think of it I read this poem and I realise I don’t have to do it, I just change the way I think of it.
My mind truly is a razor and my heart is my wrist. I destroy the power my heart holds by cutting deep into it with my thoughts. The mind is the most powerful tool we have. Whenever I feel that emptiness in my heart, my head forces me to focus on something else and I go out and make others happy instead. That fills the void long enough for me to forget and not get depressed.
Then there are days when I just wake up empty and miserable but I force myself to get up and interact with people. Who knows, someone might just make me laugh and I’ll feel better.

So it’s always mind over matter for me, I won’t be painting any pictures anytime soon.



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