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.

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Joel. The Imaginary.

He stole, I covered.
He grabbed, I joked.
We walked, we talked, we drank.
We laughed, we fell over, we made shit happen.
I couldn’t think,
I couldn’t talk,
I couldn’t walk,
I just kept telling these pointless stories.
I kept telling him about him.

“An imaginary friend. That’s all he is.”
No, I love him.
“How can you love someone you can’t see?”
I…I don’t know.

I apologized over and over,
I met people I never thought I would.
Could they see through me?
Did they think I was just slow?
I thought about it…
But then I didn’t care.
I couldn’t feel anything.

Then I came home,
I was spinning,
the world wouldn’t stop moving.
I shut my eyes,
I called an “imaginary friend”
we cried.
We sobbed.


He was disappointed in me.
I was disappointed in myself.

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