As I begin my poem, holding my pen,
I realize when I finish. I'll be older than I've ever been.

Is this really the best way to spend my time.
Trying to connect to another, with my rhyme.

Perhaps the worst thing that I really do,
is stealing the finite time, that belongs to you.

Oh, the  size of my inflated ego.
To do this insult, to someone, I don't even know.

For this I hope you'll forgive my sin.
For now, you're older than you've ever been.