I am a file to waste your time
I have no style
I do not rhyme

I am a poem that makes no sense
I do not know the future tense
nor do I care about it

I am a piece of golden ****
that clings to you like sticky paper
to be remembered later when -
in moments of appropriate silence -
you are the one to burst out laughing
and throwing up your hands with violence

When asked to please explain yourself you smile
cover your eyes to disappear
and see that this -

though silly it may be -

has changed your life.