J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last quarter century, most recently at Under The Bleachers, Misfit Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Raw Dog Press and Red Eft Review. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
————————————————————————————————————————the alcohol works better these days
another rainy afternoon
another shot of bourbon
for the pain
they tell me to stretch, do
a little light exercising, go
for a walk
that always makes me laugh
these “experts” don’t have
a bad back and arthritis
head to toe the alcohol works better
these days
they worry about my liver
i don’t i’ve lived over a decade
longer than i ever wanted
the end can arrive anytime
she wants
————————————————————————-
a soft suicide
her love was like a soft
suicide the wrists
would bleed
but eventually
give up much like
her the stars
never
aligned we never
saw each
other again the only time
i ever saw
any lucky
stars
————————————————————————–
allowing all the dirty thoughts
i’m the dirty old
man i used to read
about in my teens sitting back and
watching allowing all the
dirty thoughts to
wash over me in
a fever old enough to know
these thoughts would
get me arrested if
they became action but, having lost
the ability to smile,
i get the feeling a
misunderstanding
of sorts is coming
soon
—————————————————————————
wanted to be a gypsy
i once had a woman
who always wanted
to be a gypsy tell me
to seek out a mystery
on the north shore and
all my troubles would
be taken care of
i asked her to be more
specific and she said
the adventure would
be worth it that was a quarter
century ago, i didn’t
take her advice i’m alone and lost
my desire to travel
years ago
————————————————————————
multiple vials of blood
i have a feeling
i’m living my future
physical therapy
sessions medical facilities
on the other side
of the county strange women
concerned about
pulling sticky things
off my chest hair it’s the only pleasure
i can find anymore
that doesn’t cost mean arm or multiple
vials of blood the thought of death
resting comfortably
around every corner