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by Glenn Cornwell

3 a.m.—heard a soul stuck to the ceiling, screaming and bamming and working with feelings. Calling out his homeboys, cursing the cops, not a soul said a thing after he stopped.

What kind of world lets these things so easily happen? Laying there half asleep as if I was napping! Thinking back, entire day—none of it mentioned, living in a different hell known as San Quentin.

You might think this happens like every day.

In real life it’s usually users who pay.

Fentanyl, overdose, hanging from ceilings, end results, stays the same, working with feelings. Lessons learned, happenstance souls just can’t wait, in the end, Karma’s far worse than dates.

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Disclaimer: the views expressed by guest writers are strictly those of the author and may not reflect the views of the Vanguard, its editor, or its editorial board.

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