Disappointment

It's quite like the sickly-sweet aroma

Of wrinkled dead rose petals in your nose.

Except it's his voice, dulcet, painful tones

Ringing knell-like punches in your eardrums.

He tells you again how special you are

How beautiful, wonderful, kind, and smart

Yet it follows, the wilted, thorn'd refrain:

The status of his unmoveable heart.

There's nothing more you could've done,

No truths you could've spoken

It simply lies that he has lied

And all of his promises are broken.