I sit and stare,
Because I don't know what to do;
I'm angry and I'm hurt,
And I suppose I'm jealous too.
I want to take the photographs,
Shred every single one;
I don't enjoy being compared,
I feel like I'm always under the gun.
I know she loves him, as well as me,
But I wonder who she loves most?
He's only been gone for a year,
And I say: woe to him who is in competition with a ghost.
