You're gone and I'm sure many people appreciate that

The Bankers pledge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Barriers built we’re safely behind
What makes you think we’re worth support
That they are for sure the master race
The cash they grant hand over hand
Has limits to it , and that’s a fact.

Have they ever taken their pound of flesh
Do you think you can expend so much cash?
They are taking plans to now enslave you.
Take that plastic card they offer you today
Choose a number and now go out to play.

The maze that you are in , it grows and grows.
And you don’t see just how out of control
The numbers grow with little hope of paying
You are a prisoner of this awful nightmare
No solution offered except another poem?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
December 12th 2018.

Sure
   You. Do you

It's whatever.                   No worries
            Okay
                                       Good night
                                                       Cool

. . . You
**** me, you
Are the best thing that has ever
Happened to . . . Me. . .

Lung tree
Drink me
Take in that consequential
Energy
And please
Touch the sun with buds and dance
Perpetually
Until the day is said and done

Concrete
Upon what day will you melt to butter?
In what age will you split
Asunder
And our squishy nubs will touch
The naked land
Of younger
To caress trampled memory

Great comet
Of the heated sky
Roll chariots to the marble
Castle far by
Draw the ceiling and cast alight
The endless view of the constant night
Great God of mine.

In the photobooth
We do a silly face
Clicking the parsecs back into focal
View
And drawing upon that inflationary
Balloon
To which we ride
A darling damselfly
Old and full of chitionous youth

Old dirt
Move softly your mother
And place her dead things upon the nether
To compress into flaking chert
And ****** from the depths
An exhibit of great feature
The future of us
Lost within
The earth

Great road
I see not where your terminus goes
I know not from what strange township
You built the mountains and tumbled abyss
But when we shall be missed
And the world will roll on with constant bliss
Forgetful of the citation of our greatest works
And the obliteration of everything
Timeless.

I look at myself
and once again
I have that feeling.

That stone in your heart,
that heartless stone
that is me.

Raw feelings go here
unscheduled
no words to describe them,
just feeling.

I could say that I'm down
In this English language of yours
But no, that's not it.

You may argue it's depression,
and yeah, my psychiatrist would agree,
but that's not it either.

Maybe it's dysphoria kicking in once more,
certaintly I feel its awful hand greeping me again,
but that's not it.

What may it be,
this ugly feeling I puke to the poem.
I don't know.

But I want it to stop