J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know where the bodies are buried. He's been widely published over the last 25 years, most recently at Winedrunk Sidewalk: Shipwrecked in Trumpland, The Beatnik Cowboy, Terror House Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
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big city
i have lived
in small towns
my entire life
a big city
will probably
swallow me
alive
one day i hope
to know for sure
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heartbreak written all over it
she had the kind
of smile that had
heartbreak written
all over it
i remember the
first time she
kissed me
i promised her
the world
she broke up
with me the
second she
realized i
couldn't
afford it
i thanked her
on her way
out the door
i was in over
my head once
again
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blood on the walls
she liked the taste of bourbon
and preferred songs about
murder from back in the fifties
she made you laugh every night
she drank you under the table
used to ask you if you thought
she was still the most beautiful
woman this side of the mississippi
you would always lie and say yes
she would smile and know you
had moved on years ago
eventually, you found her
one evening in the bathroom
asleep in the tub
blood on the walls
giving you the chance to
live out your dreams
you kissed her on the cheek
and reminded her that's not
how destiny works
something from kentucky
with a little ice she moaned
from the bathroom
just another night being poor
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while approaching climax
hello darkness
the only friend
a lonely boy
ever needs
where the
imagination
tries to choke
itself to death
each night
while
approaching
climax
she had the eyes
of a broken soul
collecting names
for her revenge
he was only
hoping to be
the latest
victim
soon, glasses
of wine will
turn to bottles
and that lonely
boy will get
another chance
to be famous
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a different class of humans
my father never loved me
my mother only does so
out of guilt
my sister is in a different
class of humans and rarely
gives me a passing thought
i've heard voices since
i was a child
done drugs since i was
a teen
and knew the taste of
my favorite liquor before
the age of ten
smart enough to graduate
high school with honors
and never take a fucking
book home for four years
college wasn't an option
since my father gambled
away all that money
i went to a factory where
all us misguided genius
stupid fucks are supposed
to end up
seven years later, a few
back injuries, a couple
abortions and two painful
car accidents i should have
died in
i sat on the porch of eighty
acres and knew reality was
going to fucking win again
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