Light my wick and set me free.
Allow my sweet essence to fill the air,
and conjure a room full of smiles;
the warmth of my flame touching their hearts.

But blow out my fire and see
my wax hardens and I turn cold,
placed back on the shielf
until the next time you need me.

On that shelf I collect dust,
lost and alone.
I begin to lose my scent
and the hope that I'll ever get it back again.

Then suddenly you need me,
and again you ignite my flame.
Slowly but surely I fill the room with my personality,
this time not as strong as the last.

But one day I'll be gone.
You'll crave my scent but get none.
I'm all burnt out.
I'm all used up.