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the right to die
there's this woman
complaining about
pain and all these
broken bones
she thinks she
needs therapy
of some kind
the therapist is
telling her what
they could do
for her
part of me wishes
the therapist would
offer her the right
to die
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it was better to be realistic
i remember
when i was
younger
i dreamed
of marrying
a beautiful
black woman
and making
our dysfunction
a superpower
that was going
to destroy the
world
i'll never forgive
my parents for
telling me it
was better to
be realistic
no wonder my
imagination
carries a strong
sword of revenge
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that likes to play with knives
another night thinking about death
following the wrinkles on your face
and trying to remember which ones
are scars
your left big toe always hurts
in the rain
last time you ever went drinking
with a marine that likes to
play with knives
and all the memories of the pool
halls
all the free drinks
as no one could touch you
when you got going on any
of the tables
driving home like a dumbass
feeling great but always sleepy
nothing quite like waking up
right before that exit sign gets
too fucking close
some think you are lucky
others tend to think you are due
we're all going to die sometime
might as well have a few fucking
stories along the way
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trying to be civilized
a couple inches
of snow on the
ground
a few days ago
i was in the store
in shorts and a t-shirt
wait ten minutes and...
it's a town of rednecks
trying to be civilized
hard for them to imagine
anything but white people
around here
i always laugh when i see
the few asians or the couple
of blacks that do live here
hoping it becomes more
and more
having grown up in a very
diverse situation in this state
i understand how diversity
can expand your brain and
teach tolerance and
understanding
of course, why would these
white fucks ever want that
they have what they believe
is utopia
of course, you have to explain
to them why the schools need
money
and why the roads don't get
paved just because
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drive a mercedes
wake up in the middle of a nightmare
and realize you have never felt better
death is as natural as a sunset
as a flower drying up in a desert
but your controlled existence in
the suburbs taught you were special
and special people never die with
jesus on their side
hang out with the lost souls long
enough and you'll come to
understand
that jesus died on the cross so
your pastor can drive a mercedes
it isn't so much about heaven and
hell as much as it is about getting
every last cent into the collection
plate
trust me
they will warn you
that you always need to be
on the path
greatness never followed someone
else's footprints
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Asylum Floor and Misfit Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.
2 thoughts on “Poetry from J.J. Campbell”
J.J.
Hey, Brother, I’m praying for you!
Stephen
Stephen
thank you, although prayer has never worked for me, perhaps you will have better luck.
J.J.
Hey, Brother, I’m praying for you!
Stephen
Stephen
thank you, although prayer has never worked for me, perhaps you will have better luck.