Wreathe of lies
Adorn my body with your flowers,
Your flowers of lies—warm and afresh.

Pin them hard,
Till my skin becomes rosy,
And cheeks a little lake,
For the flowers must not dry.

Pin them with needles,
Close to my chest,
Where my treasure lives—
Alone and alive.

What have I become,
But a wreath of your lies.
The flowers withered
And the sweetness lost forever.

Unpin the needles,
Tear the flowers,
I’d still be bleeding,
For I held onto your thorns,
Knowing you’re a rose.

Inside my body,
And inside my mind,
There’s a little child,
A child with colours—bittersweet.

I know not if she’s sad or happy,
But I do know she loves to paint,
My body in a colourful tent,
So I let her be.

Now that my body has grown,
The tent doesn’t fit.
But I do not complain,
For I do not wish to see her eyes watery lit.

Every night I lose my sleep,
In wondering,
If she could have a world’s peep.
But alas! My darling,

Will never receive love akin to mine in the world.
Even if the tent becomes cold,
I must stay.
I don’t think I should ever let her go,
Despite my body’s dents.

Being smothered in a colourful tent,
Is better than seeing my darling woe.