It Was Never MS Paint

Dear Ian, do you recall
Back in twenty-fifteen
Just a little before your fall
Back into the edgelord scene

Back when you called me your friend
Ensured I was okay
How you even tried to defend
Me after you’d gone your own way

You didn’t drink no fucking Kool-Aid
Weren’t under no fucking spell
As you like to spin it to your new fans
You can try to fucking sell
This fairy tale of being unmade
And they’ll eat right from your hands

It started with The Witcher 3
Some folks mused it was too white
I still don’t know how this could be
What swung you left to right

Now your fists are aimed below
At immigrants, at trans
You picked the easiest as your foe
And it’s won you many fans

The channers, Gaters, so-called “trolls”
Who once called you Nazi
You’ve comfortably come back to the role
In those logs from IRC

Did you ever have a critical eye
Or did you just nod along
When others explained to you the why
The how the right the wrong

Look at your fuckin’ writing
From when you turned ‘til now
You fuckin’ rant about Ess Jay Double-You’s
Tied your morals to the prow
Had yourself a good keelhauling
With the trust I’d had in you.

This is no appeal for your soul
No olive branch in hand
You’ve dug yourself into this hole
And I’m the bitter man

And so, you little feces-demon
Be sure of your identity
Because should you flip again, dear Ian
None wait for thee

Don’t ever flip again, dear Ian
None wait for thee.