Paint

It's cold,
It's dark,
It's light.
He thrusts the knife with all his might.

Through the woman,
The knife goes.
In her chest,
There's many holes.

Drip goes the red rain,
Drop does the knife.
And woman screamed in pain.
There goes her life.

A boy came in,
His voice so faint.
He asked the man,
"Is it paint?"