It's not my fault if the game defaults

To us losing, through no grand assaults -

Just players who came to unwind and play,

Not scream and rage the night away.

Yet you, enraged, unleash your spite

On those who don't grind day and night,

As if your hours make you king

Of every match and everything.

You sneer at "noobs" and cast your blame,

Dictating laws inside the game.

You shout in chat, you mock, you jeer,

To boost your fragile ego here.

But in the world beyond the screen,

You're not the tyrant you have been -

You wield no power, earn no fame,

So you project it in a game.

You boot out players lacking gear,

In raids where fun should persevere.

You scorn the ones with jobs and lives

Who can't grind loot from dungeon dives.

A psychopath behind the keys,

You rage and cuss with toxic ease.

And when you're matched with random teams,

You burst apart at broken dreams.

Your tantrums turn to verbal wars,

As if poor play were fatal flaws.

And worse - when rivalry gets real,

You go too far, forget to feel.

You "SWAT" a rival, thinking brave,

But dig instead a shallow grave.

An innocent man, with kids and wife,

Now senselessly deprived of life.

So kindly, take this brutal note:

You're not a god, nor king, nor goat.

You're just a man behind a screen -

Unseen, unheard, and far from clean.

So please, log off. Reflect. Refrain.

Let go the need to cause such pain.

Find peace, seek help, and drop the knife -

And kindly, friend?

Go get a life.