Twisted Picture

An artist she was not, but her paintings were quite vivid.
She draws and paints a lot, on her small but large canvas.
She sells them for small fortune, that doesn't usually last very long.
She draws and paints more and more, but her story is twisted sore.
She draws and paints a lot, on her skin color canvas.
Her pencils and paintbrush, are silver and paint dull red.
Her painting has a story, that comes very, very sad.
But they do give her some money, in the form of reassurance.
She paints a pretty picture, but her story has a twist.
It's her razor that's the paintbrush, and her wrist is the canvas.
She draws and paints all night and stops in the day.
She hides her piece of art, from those who might say.
She continues her picture, a brutal one indeed.
She paints and paints and paints some more, then finally she goes to sleep.
Her parents come inside, and see her pretty picture,
She is finally done; her picture is finally a sinner.
She paints a pretty picture, but her story has a twist.
Her mind was her razor, and her heart was her wrist.