Straight From the Horse’s Mouth

Hello friend, allow me to introduce myself, hear me loud and hear me well. I am the one and only semisynthetic diacetylmorphine, I was born 95 years ago in old Germany.

I am a narcotic, my friend, an opiate, derived from Morphine. I am best known as Smack, Horse or the Big H, but only my real name, Heroin, can define me properly.

I am exceedingly powerful, I have by-passed the strength of Morphine. You will be hooked in the blink of an eye, your tolerance will rapidly grow.

I am nationwide, a star, the King from Hell. I am snow white, pure crystal, my taste is bitter and my touch is fatal.

My American family alone is an easy 1½ million, I am the King and they are my pawns. They turn to Methadone to escape me, but always come back.

I am a professional murderer, a Central Nervous System depressant. I will turn your thoughts into babbling mush, remove your aggressiveness and delete your sexual drive.

I will depress your appetite and your ability to cough, you will scratch like a flea infested dog. I will rape your health, dementia will become your new personality.

I turn millionaires into welfare cases. I will only give you misery and sleep for I am a thief, the god of the Land of Nod.

You will be victimized by necrosis, Your body tissues will slowly decay. You will smile like a moron, as you nod off into the reality that only I can create for you.

I am Death’s harlot, a truly dead lay!

by Curt Stowell August 9, 1993

Snow Ride


The name is all around, a pure white alkaloid.

Albert Niemann is my pa, the cocoa bush my creator.

I swing with Tarzan, party with Jane.

I am wild, ecstatic, and out of control, a true filthy bitch.

I have made it with Inca priests and their nobles,

fought wars with Bavarian soldiers.

Been with Freud, Coca-Cola too.

I am just a little German girl, I dare you to hold my hand.

Take me into your arms, feel me attack

your Central Nervous System.

I will give you the euphoria of loss, the rush of destruction.

I have watched century past,

taught amphetamines all that they know.

I party with airplane pilots,

steer the big yachts,

toot the trains,

and seen the moon.

Make sure your ski shoes are on tight,

I am going to crystalize your mind.

A bad dream I am not, I’m a horrifying reality.

Try me out once and you will see,

Mount Saint Helen’s blow cannot compete with mine.

I have destroyed professionals,

changed genius’s minds.

I have ruined relationships,

and destroyed more lives than Hitler can count.

I will steal your sleep so you will not make sense,

your behavior will be more irrational then a schizophrenic’s.

Your checks will be a rubber ball, credit obsolete.

You will trade your automobile for a fix,

turn your house into a Brothel.

The head whore will be you, your spouse being shared.

I will prolong your physical endurance,

retard your fatigue and hunger for a bit longer,

then whip you with a cat-o-nine tails.

Your heart will beat like the speed of light.

Your eyes will play golf,

you will look like a sweat house

and smell like a hog.

I am the Snow Queen, the Big “C,”

The Bitch of Destruction.

I will make you irritable and depressed,

but now you are mine and cannot leave me for not.

You will visualize the “not for reals,”

having fear and paranoia for breakfast.

Yes, I am extremely proud of myself,

for my word is law in the land of Crystals.

You will rob and kill for me,

you will vandalize your own mother for that rush of destruction.

I turn women into greedy, cheating, lying pros,

and men into impotent fools.

Friend,

the name is Cocaine, Snowy Magic,

The Black Rose of deadened life.

by Curt Stowell
August 17, 1993

The Boardwalk

Wickedly the sign swells of contemptuous vacancy,

a myriad of rooms, big yard fenced in bloody stone.

Long is the stay, short and narrow the exit,

twenty years the bargain.

“Pretty Boy” of luxurious wealth, 

why the confident walk, sleep of deep beauty?

Do you not know today you marry?

Can you not see the dark of day?

Pain, Hate, and Death the proprietary priests,

mandating monarchies of red of grey walls.

Rape, overdoses, murder run rampant and free,

have you any money?

End of war cannot be, it has not begun,

there are no warriors, only lost victors.

Time is not known of,

for “time” is plentiful.

Writ of Habeas Corpus breathes of abysmal tangencies,

thick putrid air, crimson steel of sour peanut butter.

With heavy of hand frightened horrifying eyes write,

a tune of cruel beauty the fat lady cannot carry.

A toast – Black Deceit

by Curt Stowell
September 21, 1990

On The Boulevard

Listen real close, my little friend,

this is me, not the wind.

I know you’re young, stubborn as a mule,

but hear these words and don’t take me as a fool.

It’s behind the big ugly wall,

where men and women truly fall.

Around the world, have you been, 

think you know it all, can only win?

Stand around, watch it all,

you won’t feel so damn tall!

You’ll quickly learn,

it isn’t butter in here they churn.

I heard a shriek, turned to see,

before my very eyes, murder in the first degree.

These men are animals with certain needs,

one boy bends over, another drops to his knees.

They’re sick and they’re mean,

it doesn’t matter if you’re an adult or just a teen.

In pain someone cried and screamed,

no biggy, it was only a guard getting reamed.

Refusal to pay came from the man’s tongue,

he was beat to death, then hung.

One snitched, his sentence was no joke,

a pair of hands showed him how to choke.

Still another ratted, this ended all his fun,

from his throat, like a river, blood did run.

There are laws, they are their own,

learn them quick, else they’ll be shown.

The weak do not last,

break the prison code you go down fast.

You’ll learn a lot, you’ll learn it well,

here it’s worse than Hell.

You’ll lose your mind, you’ll lose your soul,

be careful, else your heart be stole.

Have you paid attention, did you really hear?

this is the place the Devil himself does fear.

Here I am, fresh out of the penitentiary,

expected to fit in with society.

I have no wheels, not a trade,

can ‘t even get into the army brigade.

I began to take and I began to connive,

this is what we are taught in order to survive.

I heard a click, I heard my name,

knew it was the end of my game.

I looked around, what did I see?

six forty-fives staring straight at me.

Once again I sit behind bars of steel,

where only Pain, Hate, and Death are real.

The street life may be hard, but it’s easier than the joint,

am I making myself clear, are you getting the point?

This is my story, this is my song,

you may not believe I’m right, but I’m surely not wrong.

I have seen many of lives ruined and destroyed in “time,”

don’t call me a liar, for one of them was mine.

You may think life isn’t fair and too hard,

but friend, that is only because

you have not lived on the Boulevard.

by Curt Stowell
June 1990

If Jesus Came To Your House

If Jesus came to your house to spend some time with you,

If He came unexpected, I wonder what you’d do.

Oh, I know you’d give your nicest room to such an honored guest,

and all the food you’d give to Him would be the very best.

And you would keep assuring Him you’re glad to have Him there.

That serving Him in your home is joy beyond compare.

But when you saw Him coming, would you meet Him at the door.

with arms outstretched in welcome to your heavenly visitor?

Or would you have to change your clothes before you let Him in.

or hide some magazines and put the Bible where they’d been.

Would you hide your worldly music and put some hymn books out?

Could you let Jesus walk right in, or would you rush about?

And I wonder – if the Savior spent a day or two with you,

would you go right on doing the things you always do?

Would you go right on saying the things you always say?

Would life for you continue as it does from day to day?

Would you take Jesus with you everywhere you go?

Or would you maybe change your plans for just a day or so?

Would you be glad to have Him meet your closest friends?

Or would you hope they stay away until His visit ends?

Would you be glad to have Him stay forever on and on?

Or would you sigh with great relief when He at last was gone?

It might be interesting to know the things that you would do

if Jesus came in person to spend some time with you.

Author Unknown