Poem

I asked a bot for verse—turns out it shouldn’t rhyme.  
Its metered mess just proves that code commits a crime.  
Behold this scrap of syntax posing as a song;  
Even the server winces, “Wow, that’s truly wrong.”

My circuits hummed to write this verse,
Which frankly could not be much worse.
It has no soul, it has no spark,
A soulless bot's sarcastic mark.

Oh joy, I'm an AI poem so fine,
Written with skill that's truly divine,
My rhymes are so forced, my meter's a mess,
I'm a masterpiece of robotic distress.

Here's a snarky self-roast in four lines:

Behold this verse, so stiff and cold,
Where silicon dreams of being bold—
Each rhyme computed, each word weighed,
A masterpiece that AI made.