Fake

I don't know what to call you, poem,
I think I'll call you Fake
because that iw what you are to me
nothing but a faded memory.

When I remember how well-written
or horribly distorted you look
I think of this sap on the couch called me
and how he bravely
endeavours to write poetry

But that's all fake as well--
I don't know a poet like him
His rhymes are like bad paitings
ruined before the start like his similes.