I'm stupidly sad over a boy that's not mine. I'm stupidly sad thinking of them waiting in line. For a concert we never got to see, An embodiment of you and me. I know you held her hand, and sang her those lyrics that now I can't stand. Battling spite. Those things we shared late late at night. I'm stupidly sad over a boy that's not mine. When will this heal? Where's my bandaid of time?
a poem to be birthed. but possibly too late. think on this some more. this isn't the poem it's supposed to be.