They dive in deep, with hearts ablaze,
In worlds where heroes find their praise,
But in the shadows, waits the snare,
The cycle of the lobster’s lair.
First, a move so rash, unwise,
A folly seen through eager eyes,
A rule is broken, tempers flare,
The game’s enforcers heed the prayer.
The hammer falls, a ban decreed,
For actions sowed from thoughtless seed,
A moment’s lapse, a fleeting sin,
Begins the lobster’s journey in.
Frustration brews, resentment grows,
The player’s ire sharply shows,
With wounded pride, they rise to speak,
A farewell penned in tones oblique.
“I leave this game, for it’s unjust,
Its ways betray my heartfelt trust,”
They claim in posts both loud and brash,
A final act, a bitter clash.
To Steam they turn, to voice dismay,
A scornful note they choose to lay,
With words designed to vent their spleen,
Their grievances for all to glean.
“Beware this game,” they starkly warn,
“A place where joy is crushed and torn,”
They leave their mark, a spiteful score,
Then vanish, vowing to return no more.
The cycle shall continue. Maybe one day I shall be next, but for now, I sort by negative.
