to go near you i put on some leaves
to hide the thorns
and you like the crown that pretends
to be the laurels of
my victory
then the truth has to come out
the leaves wilt and they finally fall to the floor
and i am left with this leafless vines
full of thorns
i make a crown of circular twigs
filled with thorns
now, watch me as i bleed
this is my truth this is my defeat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem