You press the button.

　　Ding.

　　A bathroom appears!

　　Ta-da!

　　It`s not the greatest bathroom ever. I know this because I ripped it off an article titled "interior designers reveal mistakes to avoid when designing a bathroom", and further down is the same picture but with red arrows in certain places.

　　But hey, it`s a bathroom, which is something you really need right now.

　　Will I be watching you?

　　Of course not, that`d be weird. I`ll just switch tabs and go back to playing Among Us.

　　Don`t worry about me. When you`re done just scream really loud.

　　&Skr齮i�.

　　You scream.

　　At an exceptionally bad time! I`m just about to finish my last task, and there are only three people left alive! Give me a minute more to- Aaaaand I`m dead. Great.

　　Well, now that I`ve completely lost the game, where were we? Oh right, you were using the bathroom.

　　You`re all done, I presume? Did you remember to wash your hands?

　　Good.

　　Ok, let`s get to the next button!

　　You press the button.

　　Ding.

　　Looking around, you see that there is writing on the walls! Who could have done such a thing? Is it prophetic writing? Will it detail the end of the world?

　　No. It`s poetry.

　　Beautifully written poetry, drawn onto the walls with gold ink. All quite beautiful.

　　Do you like poetry?

　　Good! Poetry is an art, more so than writing. It isn`t just words slapped onto paper or onto a screen, no it has rhythm, ithas timing.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author`s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

　　After all, isn`t music just a combination of instruments and poetry? And who doesn`t like music?

　　Sure, there are people who prefer instrumental music, but those people are dumb.

　　Anyways, you go up to the wall and find a poem.

　　A tint of red so distinct..

　　A wind hollered like a spectre..

　　A piercing chill..

　　Are bookmarks to my chronicle.

　　Oh how it thrills!

　　To cognize a sequence,

　　To confide in the patterns.

　　My anguish shall be honoured.

　　Every breath is predestined.

　　When I`m the protagonist,

　　Not a thing is stochastic.

　　Beautiful.

　　So full of meaning. It applies to you so perfectly. That last line. It brings a tear to your eye.

　　You read it again, feeling it resonate in your soul. How do poets do that; they write things that seem to apply to you personally. After a while you feel like you know the poet.

　　Poetry truly is an art form, and poets are truly artists.

　　WELL WHY NOT?

　　Poetry is great! It`s beautiful! It`s art! You should like it!

　　&

　　You really don`t like poetry? Really? Hmph.

　　Fine then.

　　Well, I`m not letting you press that button again until you`ve read at least some of it.

　　Sighing, you head to the wall. You spot a random poem and read it.

　　The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,

　　 It isn`t just one of your holiday games;

　　You may think at first I`m as mad as a hatter

　　When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.

　　Yeah, no. You`re not going to read a dumb poem about how to name a cat.

　　You look at a different one.

　　Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

　　Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

　　Oh wow, a poem about someone reading.

　　How gripping.

　　Hard pass.

　　One last one?

　　A free bird leaps

　　on the back of the wind

　　and floats downstream

　　Downstream? Wasn`t this supposed to be about wind? Not streams. Ugh.

　　In any case, a poem about birds is only marginally better than a poem about cats.

　　Like you said, you just aren`t into poetry.

　　Fine. I guess I`ll just mark you down as an inferior art-hating human being, and let you get on with whatever`s in the next room.

　　Having read your fill of poetry for the time being, you go back to the center of the room.

　　DO YOU PRESS THE BUTTON?

　　Yes

　　No