Poetry from J.J. Campbell

White man with a beard and glasses and a beard and a mustache. He's in a room with some music and movie posters on the walls. He has a Black Lives Matter tee shirt with purple text on a black background.
J.J. Campbell
air out your life
crispness in the air
leaves taking up space
on the ground
football weather
crack a window and
air out your life
these are the mornings
where a cup of coffee
becomes three
daydreams become
paint drying in the
old angels bleeding
broken souls trying to relish
the final heartbeats of what
could have been
old demons laughing
like you ever thought this
would turn out differently
there never was a rainbow
a pot of gold or even a little
green suit
everything born has to die
and no one enjoys life
past their expiration date
even a life of eating shit
doesn't prepare you for
that taste
find ourselves in now
heaven is a woman
that squeezes tighter
and tells you to get
hell is when you
have to leave and
know forever is
slipping out of
your hands
and whatever we
find ourselves in
now is neither
perhaps that is
what hell truly

the old lovers become ghosts
these nights where
the rain moves in
and the ache catches
you right before
you fall asleep
the old lovers
become ghosts
they don't haunt
as much as they
used to
they are simply
reminders of what
could have been
all the turns you
chose not to take
you can't dwell
on such things
it will only
paralyze you
the present is
enough horror

to begin with
the courage to leap
i used to walk over
this bridge when i
was a child
i think i was eight
i had nightmares that
eventually turned to
dreams of jumping off
that bridge to my death
anytime i drive over
one now and i'm alone
that thought creeps
back in
and as tempting as it
really is, especially
during these days
i keep on driving
think of the other lucky
souls that had the courage

to leap
why not
a lonely glass
of scotch
dusty springfield
leaking out of the
rain coming down
one of these nights
where the shotgun
in the corner licks
her lips and asks
why not
you see pen and
paper on your desk
been a few years
since you gave a
final note the good
old college try
and then
you remember
the trick to finding
pleasure in the pain
there's a reason you
always loved a black


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