Portrait of a painful memory

She painted her skin
with the brush of a knife
the fibres so sharp
it could end her life

She looked at her masterpiece
And sighed in a whim
The oozing crimson
Trickled down, past her shin

Then she glared at the lines
that the paintbrush had traced
She’s ashamed of her work
She’s ashamed she resisted
It’s a terrible mess
I told her, it won’t last forever
You’ll be free someday
I promised
She wept
Then she painted one last picture
And away
She swept