Denial and death,
They act like a burden for my body, she is the one who cares.
Without any of them, does one stay sane?
But they're not a light source flowing through my veins.
They are slices of me with different names.

If you see me clothed in my white dress and high heels.
Tell me beloved,
Do your eyes still capture the needle and thread it took to sew.
I'll never let you see
The poker cards, roses , shooting stars, filthy art, perfumes and raspberries, the cherries in my heart. The sweet and sour flavour of my charm.

If you want to call me your cheré,
Cut me a slice of that what lives behind your eyes.
Followed with the cries that pour from your sky.  
Continued with the words of the wise you collect in your mind.
Finished with the fragrance of your blood.
I'd cherish every chapter,
I won't rewrite your chart.
In my existence, you'll find nothing but acceptance.

If you see me standing in a white dress covered with mud.
Do your eyes still capture the smile on my face?
Or would you stress, blind to your own mess.
When you see me at night, afraid of the emotion I hide.
You'll find me clothed in my skin,
a bouquet beside me.
While I cut the thorns of my roses,
The blood in your veins travels with the speed of light.
We throw away the needle and thread.
You see a cheerful begin, embracing the sight.
You confirm, it's only God
who can cut us in a way that we die