Alex logged on again, just sperging, not baiting,
The thread was a mess, fuming, "he's so frustrating..."
Then he called out, “It's not my fault, It's Spectating!”
He cried out like he got slapped from a ghost.
Alex pounded his keyboard, how rude could they be?
“Everyone should be picking on him, not me!”
He raged in a post with a seething decree,
Then stewed in silence, mashing the F-key.
Their words hit a nerve, ‘cause they might just be right...
Though reading it hurt on that message board night.
It’s rough when the mirror is held up, alright?
His thoughts dark and far from delight.
So now when they post something harsh he won't like,
He sharpens his words like the tip of a pike.
He doubles his snark and triples his spite.
If truth makes him bitter, then bitter feels right.
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