——————————————————————————–
—————————————————————–
but not concerned
drifting at sea
lost, but not concerned
i once got lost in the
woods as a child
my father debated if
he should actually go
find me
he never did
i came back forty five
minutes later unscathed
my mother hug me
i gave my father
the finger
my hopes are to one day
piss on his grave and then
get on a boat to nowhere
and actually enjoy a few
minutes before i die
i picture a drink with
an umbrella in it
a black woman over by
the pool that is disgusted
with my appearance
some reggae playing
in the distance
and suddenly all those
spanish classes i took in
high school are coming
in handy
——————————————————————-
the proverbial ditch
as the rain starts yet again
i dream of a soft angel
waiting for me to rest
in her arms
nearing death as fast as i
can but no one seems to
care about anything other
than their bottom line
this is what happens when
the criminals get elected to
run the country into the
proverbial ditch
bring on the natural disasters
and some fucker will be
busy playing golf
and here we settle on the
margins of life, lucky to
have a roof, food, a vehicle
that still runs
i think they are making
meth across the street
taxes must be due
if the sewers start to back
up i wonder where the
animals will go
too late to fix that hole
in the garage door
————————————————————–
here come the rainbows
torture
the haunted souls
of galveston
rename the water
and think it changes
everything
soon, another hurricane
more souls devoured
but the rich can move
at will
the poor are like
an anchor
the only reason society
doesn’t split in two
here come the rainbows
confetti
and old cheerleader
catches your eye
funny how two old
souls can always find
time for a needle
love is agony most days
the pure ache of what
could have been
heroin kisses at three
in the morning is life
asking a question
the dawn will provide
the answer
——————————————————
fighting to breathe
picture the demon
that resides inside
of you fighting
to breathe
longing for a soul
to hold and care
for
human nature gets
the better of all
of us
we tend to be
useless in these
matters
the heart wants
what it can’t
have
the soul has
given up long
ago
one tap of the
vein to get ready
two taps to find
a new god
you never hear
the stories of
when the drugs
work for someone
that doesn’t fit
their narrative
not much does
——————————————————-
the baseball cards are collecting dust
seek out a professional when the
thoughts of suicide become too
much to handle
i highly doubt the professional
is going to talk me down if i get
to that stage
now, maybe if she has stunning
eyes and can make me laugh at
all the wrong times there might
be a chance
some karma g love thing happening
i suppose
out here chasing ghosts
pondering death and debt
the baseball cards are collecting
dust
every dream has been shattered,
archived in my soul for use
when i really need to bring
myself down
my own worst enemy tucks me
in every night
reaches for the towel when the
other brain finds a release
rinse and repeat
a homeless guy told me once
if you don’t have love, all you
have is shit
took too many years to find
the bottom of that fucking
truth
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in the suburbs, waiting to die. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Dope Fiend Daily, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The Beatnik Cowboy and Yellow Mama. Rumor has it he might have a new book coming out soon. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)