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life as a cynical soul
when you
see a young
child smile
you wonder
how long
until that
smile goes
away
as the world
will surely
fuck him
over
or at least
you hope
you weren't
the only one
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constant hate
only a child
can believe
love can
sprout from
constant hate
with experience
that child will
learn any love
that comes from
hate is not the
kind of love
you can build
any fucking
thing with
no matter how
many times you
lie to yourself
it never works
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a little wooden cross
my mother
has a little
wooden cross
that has
24 7 365
on the back
of it
i believe i
know what
those numbers
imply
but the older i
get the more it
seems those
numbers are
actually how
long you are
up on that
cross
your sentence
handed down
by a faceless
judge and not
a jury of your
peers
i laugh
knowing damn
well that my
peers would
have suggested
the firing squad
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a country song
i used to lick tears off your face
tell you old stories about
rainbows and machine guns
promised you all the good parts
of my heart and my endless love
i remember the day you told me
to fuck off and left with my best
friend
i drank myself to sleep that night
laughing that my fucking life
was now a country song
a few years later the spanish
princess invited me over to
watch some hockey
we traded horror stories about
old flames and harrowing times
she tried her best to save my soul
that night
i snuck her panties out with me
with a little luck
that woman will want to spend
the rest of her life with me
and whatever little i have left
as well
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all of his failures
my father went
to vietnam to die
that was a few years
before i was born
i never knew about that
until i was eight years old
i was sadly well aware
of all of his failures
by then
i was around 13 when he
tried to choke me to death
i was 17 when he told the
sheriff i was driving when
he got into a car accident
i mention all these things
as a reminder why i refuse
to have any children of
my own
the last thing this world needs
is that dna to keep living on
when i die it goes with me
as someone who understands
the cycles of abuse and god
knows what else
this is the most responsible
decision i can make
other than i should have
taken him out when i had
the chance
imagine those poems
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) was raised by wolves yet managed to graduate high school with honors. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Asylum Floor, The Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press and Disturb the Universe Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.
