The Deer Is The Point.

Joyce.

I am characterized by fantastic imagery and incongruous juxtapositions.
A constantly changing scene composed of numerous elements.
Bizarre; Fantastic; Grotesque.
In my threshold of consciousness,
when I come upon my visions of half-sleep,
voices yell, and voices whisper,
they speak my name again and again.

Their disturbance is not invited,
and their presence is feared.

They may be benevolent or malicious.
Of the malicious type?
I can feel the tension as they stare
with intent that force silence and cowardliness.

It's happened to me,
it'll happen to you.
info
WHAT’S WRONG.
I explain.
Stop apologizing.
God damn. Make me cry.

Excuse me Chris, for damning the things God gave me.
Excuse me God,
because I am not happy.

If the world hasn’t noticed yet.
I think I should make this more apparent.
So everyone can bitch about it and tell me some more about all I’m doing is whining.
IF YOU HATE THE TASTE OF WINEWHY DO YOU DRINK TILL YOU’RE BLIND?
AND IF YOU SWEAR
THERE’S NO TRUTH,
WHO CARES?

WHAT’S WRONG.

I explain.

Stop apologizing.

God damn. Make me cry.

Excuse me Chris, for damning the things God gave me.

Excuse me God,

because I am not happy.

If the world hasn’t noticed yet.

I think I should make this more apparent.

So everyone can bitch about it and tell me some more about all I’m doing is whining.

IF YOU HATE THE TASTE OF WINE
WHY DO YOU DRINK TILL YOU’RE BLIND?

AND IF YOU SWEAR

THERE’S NO TRUTH,

WHO CARES?