Ode to Phil

This is raw, unadultered emotion in the form of magnetic poetry.

What.
What am I? I am not.
I am not your puppet to play these mindless puppet games.
Fear of failure racks my bittered soul and I weep.
I weep as a child. I weep as a child born in the wild.
So much weep when there is a lack of sleep.
So much sleep when there is a lack of weep.
This dire dance for speckled peace,
Will break the chains of athen's grease.
No more.