------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
your dead father must be proud
 

flick a booger

across the room

 

somewhere in hell

your dead father

must be proud

 

i still catch a

glimpse of him

when i look in

the mirror or

i can hear him

when i start to

laugh at times

 

it takes everything

i have to not punch

glass or slit my throat

 

not every crisis

can be solved

with just a few

deep breaths

 

i have learned

over the years

 

a glass of something

strong and a woman

willing to put her heels

into the pit of your soul

 

can do the trick every

time
---------------------------------------------------------------------
a few years at least
 

trying not to stare

at this beautiful

black woman

with curves in

all the right

places

 

i have a little

time left before

i am truly a

dirty old man
----------------------------------------------------------------
an overpass down by the river
 
i am not looking

forward to dying

alone

 

but the odds aren't

in my favor of that

ever changing

 

i figure i might have

a few twists and turns

in the works,

 

but knowing my luck

 

that will include dirty

cardboard and living

under an overpass

down by the river

 

i'm probably a few

years away from

being a springsteen

song
---------------------------------------------------------------
where even the animals
 

you'd cry yourself

to sleep if you could

only find the tears

 

broken,

discarded

 

a blues song in a

gutter where even

the animals don't

dare to piss

 

she was this drop

dead beauty

 

soft, angelic skin

 

a laugh that immediately

made you feel safe

 

she'd kiss you like her

life depended on it

 

as usual in this too

busy fucking world

 

you lose touch

 

days become months

 

and one day you feel

the urge to check the

obituaries

 

caught dancing with

a train

 

holes in the carpet

 

tomorrow makes

no sense
---------------------------------------------------------------
agony says i love you
 

think of the pain

as a hug from an

old lover

 

she brushes her hand

across your jeans and

your heart begins to

flutter

 

of course,

 

the pain is never

like that

 

a large knife driven

into your soul, twisted

until agony says i love

you

 

they tell me i have

a high pain tolerance

 

not sure what good

that does me anymore

 

i would pray for death

but i have been disappointed

enough already

 

break out the watercolors

 

put on some john coltrane

 

pretend the talent is still there

 

how does one paint out

a depression

 

shallow lines on cardboard

 

exhaustion hopefully will win



J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, Mad Swirl, The Beatnik Cowboy, Disturb the Universe Magazine and The Rye Whiskey Review. His most recent chapbook, with Casey Renee Kiser, Altered States of The Unflinching Souls, is now out in the world. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)