a tight sweater anytime i see a woman in a tight sweater i think of that night we had at the farm alone in the middle of winter a bottle of bourbon your tight sweater and plenty of time to go find a new tomorrow we never did but i certainly remember each and every attempt ---------------------------------------------------------------------- pretend pretend you don't ache with every breath pretend prayer actually works pretend that some woman will actually love you one day pretend your opinion actually matters pretend that voting can actually change the world pretend the sunshine isn't killing you pretend the rain doesn't cause your arthritis to dance pretend that blonde in the corner isn't telling you to fuck off pretend those flashing lights behind you aren't the police coming for you pretend these therapists want to see you get better pretend the handcuffs are just stylish new bracelets for all the cool kids pretend that you don't think about death each and every day ------------------------------------------------------------------ conversations with myself any sense of fun i had in me was beat out of me in my childhood i can remember conversations with myself since the age of eight i once ran away with thirty-seven cents in my pockets i came back three days later with twenty bucks and a stolen carton of cigarettes others swear they used to see so much potential in me they are as disappointed now as my family was when i was born i once had a blood clot from my left calf to my left hip i slowed my heart rate down and asked to die i'm starting to believe kind souls don't exist -------------------------------------------------------------------------- and your favorite recliner they never told you that doggy in the window was never housebroken so, he will actually cost a new sofa, flooring and your favorite recliner i always liked cats better which apparently makes me a communist i had a friend that liked humans on leashes which apparently makes her popular whatever gets you through the day i suppose ----------------------------------------------------- the best thing for him at this time the father of an old friend died this past weekend it wasn't that shocking to me, but it was unexpected i used to see him at the grocery store from time to time the years hadn't been kind to him so, i figure even though it is hard to swallow reality his death is probably the best thing for him at this time i don't want to go to the funeral i have the feeling it would be a high school reunion i don't want to be invited to
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know where the bodies are buried. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.
