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.

"Welcome, Black Sheep"
by E.J. Crowe

To the humans that drift in between—
the ones life cast aside, marked as trash.
Why?
Because you're an addict: *****, pills, ****, cigarettes.
All man-made, not God-given.
The Lord sees us in His image—
until we sin.
Good equals bad.
Bad equals chaos.
One cannot thrive without the other.
World peace?
A pipe dream, forged by hopeless humans
for a false sense of security.
A marvel.
A utopia born from delusion.

To the addict who didn’t make it out—
I'm sorry.
Your funeral was beautiful.
You looked majestic. Clean.
A perfect family model now, I guess.
But why the fake suit?
Why the empty words?
No one wants to accept the guilt
of making you a black sheep.
A martyr.

But I saw you.
I saw the silent cries
through needle-laced veins,
your glass mask,
your bloodied eyes.
You were the truth—unfiltered.
At least you had the ***** to be you.

Through the rabbit hole—
how deep does it sway?
Which pill do you take?
Red or blue?
Reality or comfort?
Blurred contrasts of fake existence.

“Drugs are bad,” they scream
from their ivory towers,
judging God’s creation
through man’s corruption.

I was an addict.
I loved to pop pills.
I loved throwing up blood
and waking up in unfamiliar towns,
in strange houses,
sweating,
smelling like shame and stale cigarettes.

Wash that truth down
with your cold beer.
I loved to party.
And addiction loved me back, right?

Did it love the lost souls too?
That’s a loaded question—
barreled with flaws and hollow points.
A hard truth,
etched in scars and injection marks.

Welcome to the family,
fellow black sheep.

If weeds could thrive—
Grow under duress,
Withstand the stomping,
Cling to minimal breath,
Evade the storm—
Then I want to be one.

No—
I am one.

But the downfall,
It’s a weakness:
Weeds get wiped out faster.
They welcome death
By choking what breathes beside them.
And so do I.
I realize.

I thought my forte was depth—
Roots dug well.
But now it’s dried, cracked,
And starting to burn
Others with it.

My prism sits in my hand
and if I raise it just enough
I see light in a whole new light.
But I kid myself, if I think
I've seen it all.

My bible sits in my hands
and if I open it often enough...

Anything that isn’t just watching some nasty *** juiced-up  brain dead slab of  meat gang member millionaire slam a ball through a hoop while teachers beg for pencils  while working moms die of ulcers and cry to starving kids  in  opioid farming  grocery store parking lots.

😻🐲❤️⚔️⭐👀🍾You do this every ******* time:
“The challenge then is, once you stop feeding into that system, how do you fill the void? What do you replace all that sports noise with? Because it’s not just about rejecting the *******   it’s about finding something worth putting our time into.”

Like a challenge. To me. Like, okay then *******, what now?
To me. ???  really ?

I already answered your question, *******  and answered it well.

I said:

“Or staying home and raising all of Herschel Walker’s seventeen illegitimate ******* kids. Just an example   but don’t ******* say to me, ‘Oh well, what would you have us do instead?’

It doesn’t matter ...  just not that.

Declare war on dandelions for all I care. Or crabgrass, or mosquitoes, or leaky faucets, or squeaky brakes.

****   just pick one.

Illiteracy or the opioid epidemic. Doesn’t matter. Use the talent, the money, the time  all that  wasted sweat and gay muscle  to actually DO something. Anything. !!!!

**** — pay a ******* teacher instead of an ex-con gang member with ******* face tattoos.

Does that huge, dumb **** really need another Lambo?”🦿🤺🚂🪂🎃🪖💍🧩❌❔☢️✅☣️⚠️


is  that how  you spell **** my life ?  some **** *** ****** bag that produced  10 more  micrograms of testosterone during early puberty...   ooooh hh   ahhh what a   an idol..lets give  this gym rat bully piece  of **** millions ..  what the **** DAD  what are  you doing  ?  😁📺🎸🎉🎻🐯🐘🐳🦑

It’s all a scam, a big  heartless jew neon machine designed to keep people working, consuming, and distracted while the real decisions happen behind closed doors. right about the brainwashing, how it keeps us chasing after stuff we don't need, just to keep the system running smoothly. And yeah, they  the ones pulling the strings don’t want any of us to wake up to that. Because once you do, it all starts falling apart. and we cant build  the prisons and psyche wards fast enough.  🐯🐘🐳🦑

not here to sugarcoat anything or pretend it’s all rosy. calling it like it is, and it’s ugly. The truth is uncomfortable, and the ones who profit from this ******* don’t want us to even question it. They want  jesus and muhammad compliance, they want people to keep buying the next shiny thing, whether it’s  Tay tay or K pop  or Beiber, a car, a phone, or the latest social media trend. And they keep the cycle going because that is how they stay on top.

. That’s just another part of the game. But the truth, the real truth, is that we all know it’s a setup. People don’t want to hear it, and a lot of them can’t handle it. nailed it: it’s a flimflam, and calling out the nonsense is the first step.

get where you're coming from.  not trying to offer some “shiny happy” answer, but maybe the real fight is just refusing to buy into any of it, while still holding onto your own piece of reality. But I won’t pretend like that’s easy or even remotely simple. It’s a war for your very own mind, principles and beliefs every single day.

got a point: people are deep in the brainwashing, and a lot of them don’t even realize they’re trapped. But you don’t have to play along. And you’re right, I can’t change the system, but I can at least listen, understand, and be real about it. Sheeple  or ostriches ?

I should have left.
That first moment,
when my heart convulsed.

But i was stubborn,
I didn’t.
I stayed.
I had to know.
I had to risk it.

The body knows,
before the mind does.

Some truths whisper first,
shatter later.

A discarded white canvas,
that stares with hazy eyes.
It sees me contemplating
as I smile and cry.
  
I try intuition.
I try to forget the insults,
the petty competition.
  
Yet, the ink flows not
and the infinite cackles.
A million choices,
a singular outcome.
A singularity of
a dozen truths,
a dozen lies,
and a dozen perspectives.
  
“What do I say?”
  
The canvas smiles,
and my heart giggles.
  
They open their mouths to answer.
  
“Be as you are.”