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was retracted within seconds.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 they never lasted...

Little did I know, they were nothing more than any other colognes.

They're only there to make me smile just to leave me wanting more.

And every time I try to surpass the sharp sting,

I would have to spray even more

just to get a subtle faint scent.

It's ALWAYS the same kind of dateless randezvous

with another USELESS gardener

who keeps on giving visions instead of actually acting it out!