Streets of Deja Vu.

Streets of Deja Vu

I wake up from a dream its the most beautifull ive ever had so far. Its all about creating worlds stories, a creative factory where worlds are imagined. Sitting round a table a band of writers come to me, faces I know are there. They ask me my beliefs I tell them and soon the wolf pack comes to kill me and rip my flesh with their teeth, i bleed i bleed and i cry and bleet like a soft white lamb being ripped to shreds, time after time time after time again and again and again until...

this perfect moment, im sat round the table and im laughing, laughing so strongly, its wednesday, whens the day, i bow down to the pure enligthened goodness of when the eternal and my trully brilliant friend who taught me, that i dont have tio waste any time sending out punches to dirty wonkers making nightmares. I can chew off my hands whilst pretending they taste of cucumber sandwiches, this is what you taught me and why i adore you, as me and the writors sit round a table, playing game after game, cards, i lose again and again on purpose laughing more honestly than any other on that day.

A dream that was almost a nightmare i chewed off my hands with my own teeth and it was you, my beautiufll friend i remember telliing me that those who play to lose are the winners of every game.

The writers in my dream almost couldnt believe it, voices and teeth had come to attack me with their deeds, and i just let them laughing all the way, for a moment i nearly got angry, or decided to defend my way, before laughing and laughing and realising it doesnt matter either way, it was this mighty spell that broke a world that would have been a repeat.

When the eternal bounced back, and these were the words that echoed in the silent deep hall of my mind. Fabolous time, Your rythmns and lullabies are so sweet.