------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ the neon nights of my youth listening to an old elton john song thinking of the neon nights of my youth where the drugs lifted me to endless heights where the drinks made me invincible where women seemed to still be interested where the yellow brick road seemed like it was still possible it always existed ------------------------------------------------------------------- drink for courage some people drink for courage and others are trying to cope with the pain of life some like to unwind and others think of the magical powers they suddenly posses i find it more likely these days that i'm drinking to hopefully end all of this way sooner than the powers that be intended plus, arthritis has made it rather difficult to hold a gun or tie a fucking noose so, it's either the bottle or a good hose and some duct tape when the bottle stops helping to write these poems be kind enough to check my garage if you don't hear from me for a few days ------------------------------------------------------------------- the retired life two cups of coffee fall asleep in the sun like a cat i tell my mother to enjoy the retired life she doesn't can't come to terms with getting older and not being able to do certain things alone i'm always there to help even though most of the time she doesn't bother to ask i tell her pride will kill her faster than any disease --------------------------------------------------------- wars have been fought over less soft brown skin years of regret a lover's lament it was us against the world now we can't see past each other to accomplish anything wars have been fought over less and no matter how much either side wants to give in and let the calm set in pride and the ego always get in the way a lack of communication will be the end of us all ------------------------------------------------------- the smallest nugget of joy you ever noticed the death poems come easy but how you languish over the page for love for happiness for even the smallest nugget of joy but death that cold reality the cruel mistress that always laughs at your pain it's the old routine or perhaps you always understood that death was always a part of life just a part that most are unwilling to talk about or even consider
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last quarter century, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Disturb the Universe Magazine, Carcinogenic Poetry, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
