I've been here before

Deja vu, and before I know it, I'm awake.

I was out late, hanging with my friends. Driving home. It's cold out, and the fog over the city got too cold. It became a cloud of frost. The streets were glittering like black jewels. I was the only car out there, my headlights were the only light besides the streetlights last night. The clouds were dark and close, and kidnapped errant rays of light.

There was no sound. The sleek pavements met and departed from tires without protest, and only the modest purr of my underwhelming beast of burden spoiled the silence of the night.

Home led to sleep. Dreams of dreaming about nice things. Things that don't exist in the real world. Illusions that make me feel warm and safe. A temporary escape from the paranoia.

Waking up, it's deja vu. I've been here before. I've done all this before. Pixies grinning and stupid Christmas questions repeat themselves from past and future. How do I know what people are going to say? Why do they keep asking the same questions? Why do I keep answering with the same words?

Why can't I recognize myself in the mirror anymore?
Why am I dreaming when I'm awake? And why do people try to ease my paranoia with false comfort while they brandish their cruel knives behind their backs?