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I'm just an unthought afterthought,

If I'm even barely a thought at all.

How could I think, any different,

When I'm made to feel so small?

For effort that's not given freely,

Certainly isn't any real effort tried.

Especially when, no notice was taken,

Of the fountain of tears, I've dried.

There's barely ever consideration,

For these damn sorrows of my life.

Only thoughtless words spewn out,

With an edge-sharp-tongued-knife.

To not even be remembered, 

On any one important date,

Only rushed into a haphazzard reminder,

But then too little...is just, too late.

See, I'd rather just have NOTHING,

Than have something not done of devotion.

Because all it is, is fake, pretty wrapping,

Void of any real love or emotion.

So I'll just stay that afterthought,

It's what I grown accustomed to do.

Too many years of this such narcissism,

Has been twice, all I ever really knew.