The mess of this (end-g[a{m]e})

I realise now the end-game 

Is that everything I said

And got imprisoned for via

Psychiatric bent

Was wrongly used to

Send me mad and

Make me bad

And do this untold miserable

And traditional 

Blaming the victim 

For the sins of other states,

And mates in corps that

Thought themselves so clever.

And if that does end up being 

The game, how after that could

I remain the sane

I have fought constantly to be

In the absence of

Friends or supporting family?

What port in tough weather 

Are you asking me 

To leave roughly

As I venture towards the truth 

Of this mess?

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