He wanted to get through to me
And knew that I liked poetry
So he jotted down his selfish thoughts
Added commas and some dots
Spaced out the backhanded phrases
Which he thought were deep and full of praise
And tried to cover his intentions with flowery description
To persuade me with a mental inscription

It is easy to tell when poems are from the heart
And the ones which have been deeply rendered
So I read those lines and cringed from the start
Because now I am sure it is you who is the pretender