"We were never lovers.
We were two addicts sharing the same poison."

But only one of us overdosed.

just a casual crush
somehow joined my crushed heart
she gave life to the poet inside me
whom I never would know if I hadn’t met her
she was like stars in the night sky
which brings comfort to distant observer
when I witnessed her heavenly presence
it was like the blind seeing, feeling light
the most beautiful flowers envied her beauty
she was as complex as a eels birth
that is what I liked about her!
Only her closest ones know about her
I tried my luck
unlike the scientists I had some success
success which gave and took everything simultaneously
I found a picture of her birthday
the first pic of her adorned in a red dress
glowing brighter than the ruby on her neck
the next picture was of her boyfriend
tall, long hairs and success all over him
next with their lips locked
which unlocked my mind into reality
just a casual crush or so I thought
somehow has crushed my heart harder

If I was a bird my wings would be clipped by a kid running around with scissors because its parents didn’t really care or shot by a man with a gun because the government doesn’t mind.

If I was a shark I would eat a meal that contained plastic scraps because proper trash disposal wasn’t a thing or get caught in a net and have my fins cut off to be sold on a market full of people who would eat anything they could get their hands on just so they rest of me could be thrown back into the water to rot and waste away.

If I was the sun I would have to exist knowing that people scream at me to burn hotter and brighter or dimmer and colder every second, minute and hour because of the extreme climate they gathered on their own planet.

If I was an angel my halo would be ripped off my head and thrown away like trash or I’d be on earth like every cliché romance plot ever and get shot and dissected by “scientists” who claim to mean good and crave to do bad because there is a reason happy endings only exist in fictional stories.

If I was human I’d be nothing short of disappointed.

Then again we are never good at being anything more than hypocritical.

handplucked, stared at, silence.
examined front-to-back, indifferent,
and dropped in a cylindrical hell
unlike any other you'd ever know.
subject, object, experiment.
a constant mire of hate, sin,
fear, death, lust. hate.
anything and everything adjacent
to violet highlights in calming sunsets,
a love for what can be despite what is.
inked by the growing bead in your chest
that pulsates when you dream of better,
more, the minimum. pure existence.
the bliss of firing off one round
of expression that might shift the world
and free you.
something you can't know
while others hold the jar and shake you.

when you trim your ***** and your mustache with the same pair of scissors
when you hand over your entire paycheck to the bartender of doom and glee
when you write a bounced check at the grocery store
when you sleep with a girl who isn’t clean
when you’re young, lost, broken and poor
when your childhood runs hard and your luck runs out
when your best friend is dead and your other friend is ******* your girl
when your dog sleeps in the afternoon and dreams of the neighborhood *****
when your nutrients gets replaced with Xanax bars over the one who just left
when your tired eyes meet the brick & mortar of strenuous labor
when the smile is so fake that it appears genuine
when you go all in on someone you weren’t 100% sure of
when you wait on bleeding knees for the unreliable god
when you bet on the boxer that crashed to the canvas
when the interest is high and the banks are closed and the creditors don’t care about grace periods
when you understand very little and you expel a whole lot
when the cord of anxiety strangles your very essence
when you turn out to be just as everyone expected

don’t worry

it’ll all turn around

and find you again

someway

somehow.

Dated a vampire once whose excuse was that men were all the same. She bite men with excitement introducing a vibe, an energy and a different outlook on life only to receive the same ending, time after time. Instead of living for true love she feasted on logic, loyal-less and boundary free. I spoke life into her only to realize I was in an open casket sneaky linking with a dead end situation. She called me toxic, inconsistent and selfish. She ****** lust out of life, cried victim to her social media and any person who would listen to fix her fix, all for attention to attract her next victim. All them captions and pictures living the best life, only to trap would-be souls of men and women she couldn’t unsuck. Unobtainable with an unquenchable thirst, all that vegan healthy lifestyle yet not living the life. The very thing she **** for life, lacks in substance which keeps her wanting more.

True love.

I call her Dracula Bae.

-Kountry Speaks

Finally I Can Sleep
By E.J Crowe

Groggy as I come to—
Vision blurred—
Surrounded by a puddle of puke,
Cigarette ash and Budweiser perfume the air like rot in my lungs.

I'm half-naked,
Head jackhammering,
Tooth gone—
Who the **** am I?
Where the **** am I?

Next to me,
A dark-haired woman lies still—
Dried ***** mats her curls like glue from last night’s regret.
I glance around—
Subway station.
Concrete.
Filth.
Stale **** thick like ghosts in the air.

Then—
A loud noise—

"******* STOP!! MY HEAD!!"

The train.
It roars through my skull,
Splitting me open,
Stimming, shaking, escaping,
Reality starts to unravel—
So I dig in my pocket,
Fingers fumbling for salvation.

A worn, unmarked bottle—
Pop one…
Maybe I’ll forget again.
Another…
Maybe I’ll feel better.
Another…
Maybe I’ll O.D.

She gasps awake,
But she’s not really here—
Half-blind, incoherent,
I lift her—***** and all—over my shoulders,
Her hair stings my nose but I don’t flinch.
I should be used to this.
This is my life.

On the train again,
Noise like God screaming,
I collapse into a seat.
Light a smoke.
Nod off.
The world moves.
I recognize the stops—
My town.
My home.
A sliver of hope beneath this decay.

We stumble to my front door.
Dad opens it.
I whisper—

"Help her. She needs to sober up."

Bloodshot eyes.
Cold sweats.
Puke-stiff hair.

He looks at me like death just spoke and murmurs—

"What friend?"

I look beside me.

Nothing.
No one.

She never existed.
I made her.
Built her in my mind so I wouldn’t have to shoot up alone.
So I could pretend I wasn’t this far gone.

He punches me in the face—
And for the first time in days,
Weeks,
Years…

Finally… I can sleep.