—————————————————————-
hit and run
i remember when my father
told the sheriff’s deputy that
i was driving his ford bronco
that just had the hit and run
accident
that’s why i was in the bathroom
shaving, trying to hide my identity
little did that dumb fuck know
i knew the deputy
she asked me one question
where does your father usually
hang his coat
i told her usually by the door
but this time he took it to his room
she said thank you and then went
and arrested my father
i called my mother, who was at
a nursing conference an hour away
and told her that her oldest child
is going to jail
she asked what did i do
i told her not me, the dumb fuck
you are married to
i’m pretty sure i only talked
to my father once after that
that was more than enough
————————————————————-
these lonely streets (for jeff buckley)
drowning in tears
joy, pain, there’s
not that much of
a difference
anymore
a moment of silence
for all the lost souls
that still ramble these
lonely streets
just another old man
still clutching to the
faint brilliance of
the past
slowly dying under the
pressure of tomorrow
freedom
the ability to die
as you wish
her eyes glisten
as she knows there
won’t be many more
nights like this
offer apologies
buy never say
never
let the silence haunt
every last memory
——————————————————–
they all want to save you
it starts as a dull ache
a temptation for the
shotgun in the corner
a dirty old floor at
the farm you should
have died on
stuck in the suburbs
wondering which
wrong turn left
you here
and they all want
to save you just
on their terms
not in the time
frame that you
have left
people don’t like
talking about death
you put too much
into the universe
you know what
happens
yeah
wake, piss, eat, drink,
rinse, repeat day after
fucking day
always respected
the ones that never
wanted to live past
their expiration date
none of us ever
should
———————————————————
domestic bliss
a dirty pair
of underwear
hanging off
a branch of
a tree
tornado?
or did someone
cheat on their
wife?
again?
welcome to
the midwest
———————————————————–
must be the holidays
the merchants of death
are at it again
must be the holidays
as much as i can feel
every part of my body
breaking down
the spirit is what
i’m worried about
that will to live
the last flame before
death takes over the
body
there’s a faint whisper
in the back of my head
telling me to hang on
there’s a light at the
end of the tunnel
insert train joke here
and i know i am better
off than most of the world
but that isn’t some great
achievement in my eyes
swimming in debt
fighting off sharks
not exactly how i thought
the glory years would go
now the words want
to play hide and seek
and people wonder why
so many take their own
lives
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is an old soul that still scrapes by each day. He’s a 3 time Best of The Net nominee and a two time Pushcart Prize nominee. He’s been published for 30 years now, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, Crossroads Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review and Misfit Magazine. He spends most of his time taking care of his disabled mother. In any seconds of free time, he’s probably placing a bet on some soccer game overseas. He still has a blog, although he rarely has time to write on it. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)