I’ve traveled this country’s gutters,
Sailing down them on a sea of cigarettes,
Crack sacks, syringes, hazy regrets,
Amphetamine dreams and debauchery,
Straight into the sewers of humanity.
My life has been full of cellophane schemes,
Fiends and the screams of drama queens.
Often I have leaned in and kissed death full on the mouth
And felt her icy tongue dance in my throat like flames.
I’ve crawled across the coals of hell and back.
Believe me, I never would have sold my soul
To this beast, had I known Hell was so goddamn cold.
Too many friends are resting fathom-deep,
Silent, counting ghosts of sheep.
They listen to songs of earthworm tails
That slither over coffin nails.
So what makes me so damn different?
Why was I saved?
Why do I walk above the grave?
Who the hell am I, Edaurdo Jones,
To write above the ashes and bones?

I’m a strong believer in fate. Over the years I’ve reflected on all of the events and questions listed above. My conclusion; this fickle beast has assigned me a task. That task is to be the voice of the doomed. I am the one who has been blessed and cursed with this double edged sword. A way for all the friends I’ve lost to scream from the grave not to follow in their tragic steps. I don’t write about drugs and the road to hell in order to glorify them. I write about them to warn the young and naïve about the signs that litter the road to doom. There was a time in my life when I could not read the subtle language they were written in. But after spending the better part of life wandering down this dark twisted depraved path, I know these signs as well as I know my own face staring back at me in the mirror.

The world I now live in is a far away and distant planet compared to my life in the gutter. Some days it all feels like it was just a terrible nightmare and I’ve awoken cold and sweaty screaming to the Gods to save my soul from this hell. I am forever haunted by these thoughts, and the special place reserved for my soul on the spit above the fiery pit.

So here I sit letting my fingers dance across the keys exorcising the devils that infect the darkest corners of my soul. This is my penance. This is the path I’ve chosen to attempt to save not only my soul, but the souls of all I have lost along the way, and the ones who know not what they are about to do. Hell is here right on earth and you can find it in the bottom of a crack sack.


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