This week, I’ve discovered that many people can become uncomfortable when dealing with mental illness using poetry. For me, that is all this is, in effect: a process by which I am learning tools to better communicate what exactly goes on within this mind. Those skills will never be honed: for the rest of my days it will become a genuine struggle to make people understand what it’s like inside my head.

These two poem sequences are some of the best things I have ever produced. They are the beginnings of a new process: technical ability plus emotional depth. Undoubtedly, many would question my decision making processes when ‘publishing’ straight to the internet but this is my home. I’ve lived and worked here since the place was created. I’ve been involved with gaming for over forty years.

On Friday night I opened the door into a wider Universe. These weekly practices are my stepping stones, means by which that point was reached, and they will mark progress of this next chapter going forward.

Without these poems to guide me, I am nothing at all.

 Open Wound

Here, these thoughts, real time angst
beamed, streamed; anger gleaned
digital shares, fuck who cares
collective moral bankruptcy.

There, he ought, feel her pain
ripped, slipped; tighter lipped
stop mansplaining, complaining
attacking woman’s sanctity.

Here’s a thought, quit talking;
fun, spun, something done
away from screen, lives convene;
alternative, consistency.

Open wound, never heals
picked, kicked, users sick
indignation, resignation:
modern malaise, cannot agree.

Close minded, no time left
broke, stoked; final joke
future condemned, without end:
return balance, reality.

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