this is an old and not good poem I found in one of my notebooks.
the wrong guy.
you remind me of a guy I used to know,
and second-day stoned.
You go down easy,
like iced tea laced
You wear your confidence
like a threadbare sweater
(and I would like to put you on.)
Sometimes I see you,
brown hair fringing your eyes
(and I wish your eyes could see me)
but you only see whatís right in front of you
(and I am ten paces behind.)