Why do we want what we can’t have?
Why is she happy, why is she sad?
Why must I torment myself with this thought?
Why don’t I just trash these flowers that I bought?

I go to great lengths for beautiful women,
I give them things just to be with them.
But for some reason they don’t want me.
If only they looked more carefully,
I think they would find that I’m honest and nice,
Instead their glare is as cold as ice.
That’s if I’m lucky, sometimes they don’t look,
Sometimes I feel like a dusty old book.
Never to be used, never to be read,
Never get a chance to be happy and instead
No one knows, no one cares,
I am he who lives and bears
The pain of love,
The pain of trust,
Live long, or live lost,
It’s love or bust.

~Charles Stafford~