Hey. Put the headset down on the desk. Just leave the alliance chat for one minute. Look at your hands right now, man. You’re literally shaking over a digital map. Talk to me. Yo, put down the controller, you're blowing your motor, your shoulder is tense and your eyes are injected. You're mad at the coder, a soldier of clover, a voter who feels like he's never respected. You're sitting here bitterly, clicking the gimmickry, tripping on pixels that don't have a soul. You're literally simmering, vision is glimmering, slipping right into a terrible hole. It's a toxic pattern, your logic is scattered, your project is battered, you're losing your mind. A box full of malice, you live in a palace of electronic garbage that leaves you behind. Your grandfather taught you to manage the panic, examine the damage and stand like a man, But you’re losing your posture, the hubris has cost you, the system has bossed you right out of your plan. You’re screaming at screens in the middle of midnight, a pitiful pit-fight with people you hate, A critical condition, an initial admission that you cannot handle a digital fate. Your aunt used to tell you that magic was real, but you're trading that feeling for venom and spite, Just barking at monitors, mocking the foreigners, blocking the followers, wasting the night. Come on, man, it’s just a game, it’s only a game, don't let it ruin your day. The leaderboard resets, the server goes down, and all of these pixels just fade into gray. Life is the struggle, the hustle, the bills, the family you gotta protect and sustain, So drop the controller, breathe in for a second, and stop letting fiction inflict all this pain. Yeah, it’s just a game. Look at your hands, they are twitching and shaking, the friction is making your knuckles turn white, You’re pacing the basement, a human replacement, a stupid debasement in middle of night. You’re neglectful and cold to the people you hold, and you’re sold to a system that steals your focus, An optical trick with a digital stick, and you’re sick from the venomous, chemical locusts. You gotta wake up in the morning at seven to work for a living and pay for the rent, But you’re sitting and sweating and betting your health on a server where all of your money was spent. You’re screaming at kids who are living in Kansas, your blood pressure rises, your eyelids are heavy, You’re breaking your mouse and you’re shaking the house, and your mind is a structural break in the levee. Your uncle would look at this absolute mess and just tell you to pull yourself out of the dirt, You’re chasing a ghost in a terminal post, and the only result is the people you hurt. Come on, man, it’s just a game, it’s only a game, don't let it ruin your day. The leaderboard resets, the server goes down, and all of these pixels just fade into gray. Life is the struggle, the hustle, the bills, the family you gotta protect and sustain, So drop the controller, breathe in for a second, and stop letting fiction inflict all this pain. Yeah, it’s just a game. You’re-an-addict-to-the-static-it-is-getting-problematic-how-you’re-acting-so-erratic-over-automatic-data-on-a-screen-that-isn’t-real-life, With-a-malice-in-your-callous-little-digital-alliance-you-are-breaking-every-science-and-you’re-waking-up-the-clientele-and-causing-all-this-real-strife. You-are-running-to-the-button-like-a-glutton-for-the-punishment-and-wondering-where-all-of-your-encouragement-and-undercurrent-energy-is-going-now, It's-a-terrifying-loop-and-you're-a-dummy-in-a-troop-and-you're-consuming-all-the-soup-of-the-toxicity-in-the-middle-of-the-room. Look at you. Drop your shoulders. Your grandfather didn't work forty years in a factory for you to get a stroke over a game. Your kids wake up in three hours. Is this who you are? Just turn the console off, man. Go get a glass of water. Go check on your family. Tomorrow’s a real day, and you gotta face it. Leave the lobby behind. It’s over.
