Throw up... Your Hands

I have nice dreams,
Leap year prophecies, toadstool royalty and warm cheeks pressed against a funhouse mirror. Mock trials ending in no contest. Warm receptions. Long roads. 
Time is my friend, she brings the night to me. 

I have nice nights,
Unity through vices
Peace and blurred vision
Cold and uninterested. 
Lost and with good reason. 
Hide behind nature. 
Smiling politely. 

I have nice days,
Subhuman, subculture, subway.
Eat fresh, Be fresh, Be yourself
Eat whatever.
No contest, No entry.
No judges, No servants. 
No service, Damn!