The Perfect Picture

As I start to paint the perfect picture
Not with a paint brush
But a razor
And I set the cool metal against
The once filled with hope and life's joys
Where the red liquid of life starts to run
Starts to shed its once to happy home
Where the once normal person
Inside of me flows away
And finds a new home in the cracks of the bathroom floor
But not to be sad
The thrill of life leaving me
The way I feel myself grow tired
But I don't stop
I go to the next wrist and slash away the pain
And slash once again for all the names
Again for the mental pain
And now in exchange for the red jeans which were once white
And the white wings which were
Clipped taken and destroyed by my none existent soul...