Poetry from J.J. Campbell

Middle aged white man with a beard standing in a bedroom with posters on the walls
J.J. Campbell
a tight sweater

anytime i see

a woman in a

tight sweater


i think of that

night we had

at the farm


alone in the

middle of



a bottle of



your tight



and plenty

of time to

go find a

new tomorrow


we never did


but i certainly

remember each

and every attempt

pretend you don't ache

with every breath


pretend prayer actually works


pretend that some woman

will actually love you one



pretend your opinion actually



pretend that voting can actually

change the world


pretend the sunshine isn't

killing you


pretend the rain doesn't cause

your arthritis to dance


pretend that blonde in the

corner isn't telling you to

fuck off


pretend those flashing lights

behind you aren't the police

coming for you


pretend these therapists

want to see you get better


pretend the handcuffs are

just stylish new bracelets

for all the cool kids


pretend that you don't think

about death each and every

conversations with myself

any sense of fun

i had in me was

beat out of me

in my childhood


i can remember


with myself since

the age of eight


i once ran away

with thirty-seven

cents in my pockets


i came back three

days later with

twenty bucks

and a stolen

carton of



others swear they

used to see so

much potential

in me


they are as


now as my

family was

when i was



i once had a blood

clot from my left

calf to my left hip


i slowed my heart

rate down and asked

to die


i'm starting to believe

kind souls don't exist
and your favorite recliner

they never told

you that doggy

in the window

was never



so, he will actually

cost a new sofa,

flooring and your

favorite recliner


i always liked

cats better


which apparently

makes me a



i had a friend that

liked humans on



which apparently

makes her




whatever gets

you through

the day

i suppose
the best thing for him at this time

the father of an old friend

died this past weekend


it wasn't that shocking

to me, but it was unexpected


i used to see him at the

grocery store from time

to time


the years hadn't been

kind to him


so, i figure even though

it is hard to swallow reality


his death is probably the

best thing for him at this



i don't want to go to

the funeral


i have the feeling it would

be a high school reunion

i don't want to be invited


J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know where the bodies are buried. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.

One thought on “Poetry from J.J. Campbell

  1. I find Mr. Campbell’s poetry “mildly entertaining”. He certainly captures what daily life looks like and doesn’t mince words. I read that a Buddhist saint said to think about your death five times very day and it will make you happy. It works.

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