Imagine sitting in a circle, everyone holding a gun to the next persons head. Everyone is staring at one another, some exchanging nervous glances and some exchanging sad smiles. Some hands would be shaking but others would have no fear. Then at last, someone would start the countdown. 
“3..2..1” and then there would be a loud collective bang of gun fire and everyone would all drop dead blood around and inside the circle, spilling out and flowing in every which way.

But
what if someone didn’t fire. Then that one person would have to sit there in horror as all of the rest of the circle would be dead and they’d have to sit there wondering whether they should run away or shoot them self… Or would they just sit there in shock probably in tears because everyone is dead and gone.

His paint brush was a razor, and his canvas was his wrist. Each swish of the brush brought tears to his eyes, but when an artist starts to paint, he does not stop until its done and finished.

His wrist was his canvas and the razor, his paint brush.