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.