little chance hushed laughter a quiet embrace between two old lovers i try not to look jealousy is a horrible byproduct of being a human it becomes even worse when you know there is little chance of change ever coming along ------------------------------------------------------------------- put our differences aside my father died before i hit my forties we never had those years where we had put our differences aside and had a drink in a bar instead, i'm up at night reading medical records of a man that was crazy and the new family that drained all the money he had part of me thinks that was mine part of me knows i wouldn't fucking want it he'll never be anything more than the fucker who tried to kill me and failed tried to kill himself and failed tried to bring the rest of his world down and succeeded thankfully, i wasn't a part of his world for the last twenty years of his life --------------------------------------------------------- downing spoonsful of shit the ignorant want to lead just as much as the blind think they can see the rest of us are stuck in the void downing spoonsful of shit because someone wearing a white coat said it was good for you i never listened to them i drink a bottle of liquor every couple of days my doctor thinks i'll die soon i told him i'll make sure to tell his replacement about that -------------------------------------------------------------- yet my mother was telling me everything she wants me to change in my life and ended the one-sided conversation with your life isn't over yet i mentioned i liked what she ended the last sentence with yet one word that has a limitless supply of possibilities but still that genuine human quality of procrastination -------------------------------------------------------------- open a window and fall back asleep one of these mornings where you'd love to open a window and fall back asleep it's an open field with trees starting to change colors eventually, the powers that be will decide a few homes or a new business would look better you miss just how quiet the old farm would get at sunset not everyone is frightened by their thoughts
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last quarter century, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, Cajun Mutt Press, Terror House Magazine, Jellyfish Whispers and The Beatnik Cowboy. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
These poems pack a punch!
thanks