——————————————————–

the end of this parade

i had a therapist tell me

that writing out my pain

would be a good thing

he was one of these fucks

that was never interested

in what i had to say

only wanted to make sure

the money was good

and people wonder why i drink

i feel like i can see

the end of this parade

that the light in the tunnel

is a fucking train and i feel

no desire to get off the tracks

i tell my mother there is

no reason to fear death

it is only the natural

conclusion of life

i don’t know how to be

a hypocrite on this one

i close my eyes and

accept the pain

i could care about

what comes next

but then again,

if i’m dead…

—————————————————

hoping to look cool

frank used to make

his saxophone howl

on a saturday night

i used to stand there

smoking a cigarette

hoping to look cool

putting pen to paper

when the moment

would arrive

there was a drunk

woman that took

my pen one night

i was hoping she

was going to write

her number down

on my hand

she threw it across

the street where it

got run over by

a car

i’m sure she has

kids now that bitch

about their kids and

all the school taxes

frank died a few

years later

and i haven’t been

back there in years

i did learn though

to hide my fucking

pen from the drunks

———————————————–

last nickel to my name

maybe love is a dragon

misunderstood and pissed

off about it

any delicate nature isn’t

tolerated anymore

as usual i am lost

broken and disheveled

last nickel to my name

a glass of scotch and

a clove cigarette for

that last reminder

of my youth

she was a snare drum

in a long solo from

coltrane

how she ever found me

will remain a mystery

i probably will never

get the chance to

read it

most likely

i am just a footnote

a chapter that some editor

will mark as not necessary

for the final edition

—————————————————

never cool enough to enjoy

two in the

morning

alone

it feels like

morning is

just another

reason to die

love is some

distant rumor

you were never

cool enough to

enjoy

once you got to

the second hand

of dead friends

you stopped

counting the

ones that beat

you to it

so many years

behind you that

the truth slaps

you and never

in the way you

would like

a cold reality

jack and coke

old reruns of

austin city limits

just hoping for the

right song to start

playing

————————————————

hoping for some kind of reply

i can remember the

quiet nights waking

up alone

thinking of you on

the other side of the

world

all the damn messages

sent

hoping for some kind

of reply

even a fuck you is

better than the waiting,

hoping

what good is this instant

society if you still believe

in smoke signals

the blinding sun and

a bottle across the top

of your head out of

nowhere

the average man

would take that

as a sign

i was blessed with

stubborn genes

i hope one day

someone can

appreciate that

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Rye Whiskey Review, Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy and The Asylum Floor. His book with Casey Renee Kiser, Altered States of The Unflinching Souls, was recently published by RaVenGhost Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)