I don’t like this screen anymore;
can’t grasp words like the past,
definitions or lack thereof.

objectives reveling sonically
with objects of sold bronze.

wired tight
with fire’s might,
as squires fight
over who’s
the better squire,

despite there lacking
a knight, or even a lord.

I don’t know what I like anymore,
maybe it’s aversion,
my preferred adversary,
serving our *******.

there’s something itchy
about this place,
something hitherto
I could not scratch.

now I do,
and it just spreads
the rash,

as usual.