A gift bestowed me kindness
The warmth of your thought my crown
But came with it one deviant voice
Whom if I spoke would let you down

The small voice belonged a girl
Who might long-ago have said thank you
For the very same small gift she went
Onto forget and break through

And I do feel so unkind
For thinking things, questioning why
When I know you only shared it
'Cause it's now me who makes you shine.

...

(There is a conflict in my head
Between my waking and half-dead,
Where I judge my deemed importance
As menial, in your head)

To myself I know it's preposterous.
But at times I'm wont to think this way.

If you save that bit of love
that you made another girl
Should I feel special or dishonored,
Or ungrateful, for asking

I am a hypocrite, when I say
Nothing on earth should go to waste
When I do secretly wonder
        Why you kept the old remains
                of things for someone who was not worth it
And give them to me, if I'm so special?
Am I not special enough to earn
        something I inspired you to love?
Or have I just the trust and merit to guard keepsakes
        others sewn and snagged you from?

Please do not take this to mean that it is undervalued,
I really do love it so much.

I'm just bitter hands besides ours have wrapped around your heart
Despite knowing that the both of us have contributed that part
It's a truth of life I must respect, as I too, had past remains
I was just lucky enough, that those I'd shared with, were good and kept them safe.