NO ROSES, NO SCENTS: It's The Same Kind of Dateless Randezous
With all the love songs I've performed, No melodies or lyrics ever led me to a rose extract. Not orchids, not lilies, not even a bud of hibiscus they only scatter the petals on the floor to make me sniff them little by little. Eventually, the petals run out to leave me hanging without a thread. No water to quench my thirst, no perfume to warm me in the darkness. Only a plain alcohol mist sprayed on my wounded soul with every word spoken. Every smile was answered with frowns, every laughter was silenced, and every look accidentally given to me was retracted within seconds. If there was a tape recording my voice, there's also a video that recorded my disappointment without me being in the frame. I was too ashamed to exist, too proud to walk, to tired to smile... Yet I was too known to sit back down. I could only stand in awkwardness to witness a torturing 'playful' act on the stage, Performed before a hundred eyes with no restraint. I sprayed and sprayed my perfumes, Yet...
