Her heavy eyelids, her mouth shut tight.
A stare that could pierce through ribcages, through pumping organs, through spine.
Her lips were stained with an artificial tint, the same warmth of her own blood.
Her every step was guided by a strange beat of dark chocolate-flavored symphony.
She was there, and not there at the same time.

Venus burns like hell's fire.
When she ran out of tears, she turned into ice.
It was the same dark cloud that found a home in her brain.
It was the same garden of cacti that hangs in her hair.
It was the same piece of rock that blocks her throat.
It was the same mess of dead butterflies, trapped in her lungs.
The only difference was that she finally learned how to dance.

Smells of bouquet
Lands on her dress

Laces and Braid
She catches each breathe

Air of romance
Seen on her dance

Pink and red roses
Fall upon her hair

Femme, my lady
She's a beautiful femme

On the top of the white marble steps,  her pedestal
 she stands tall, head held high up in the clouds
that one moment I forgive all her sins
 for the self abandonment that deceives all of us.
It makes her an original,
though feeble minded, vainglorious, unabashed
self-deceptive about her past,
distorting light within to create darkness
each and every fact twisted
the way she wants others to believe,
see her gait, all are compelled
to view her grandeur as one of a kind.
She sings and her emotions flow like a river,
one can hardly find any flaw in her technique.
Eclipsed by her penumbra,I have no escape,
love her the way one loves a burned out life.

je ne suis qu'une femme
qui cache un enfant derrière son visage
cette fille qui me tient la main
et qui me suit avec pieds lourds
yeux soit au soleil ou au sol
mais jamais devant elle
et moi, je dois toujours
regarder derrière moi
pour faire certaine qu'elle n'est pas tombé
encore sur la terrain que nous traversons ensemble
ensemble, mais pas du tout
la même personne
je suis une femme, mais pas encore
fini mon enfance