Poetry from J.J. Campbell

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

sitting in a

waiting room


to myself


this how the

poems are

made folks


there's another

guy sitting a few

chairs over, he's

looking at me


i start to mumble

louder, hoping

he will move


he got up and

walked to the

other side


and they say i

don't know how

to handle being

in public
all the miles between them

the devil is a soft-skinned

mistress somewhere in



the foul-mouthed madman

is comfortable in his lonely

life in ohio


misery is all the miles

between them


there is little chance this

will end up as a lifetime

stay quiet about the dirty dreams

is it better to

exist or live

like a fool


love a whore

or stay quiet

about the dirty

dreams of the

pastor's daughter


make fun of the

homeless or give

them a new brown

paper bag for their



i often find myself

sitting at a red light

blasting music from

a century or two ago


i get some funny

looks but every

once in a while

an old soul will

nod in approval


when that happens

i immediately

change the channel


i stopped being a

monkey for your

attention years ago


at least have the

decency to make

one believe there

will be some money

darkness is an old friend

i have lucid


that creep

into my

thoughts in

the middle

of the day


i can still

taste my


nipple in

my mouth

all these

years later


i still


how cold

the bathroom

floor was



is an old



but at times

it likes to

leave me


and begging

for death


one of these

days i'll be

free at last
might as well throw out a few bombs

never fall in love with

the wrong woman


the beautiful one with

a great memory


the type of woman that

remembers every stupid

thing you ever said in

a fight


especially the really

cruel shit that was

meant to hurt her


because you thought

well, we're never going

to speak again, might

as well throw out a few



those women will haunt

your dreams until you



they will remind you

of all that stupid shit

you said at any moment

they deem necessary


i suppose this is what

i get for remembering

someone's birthday


if i truly was the fucking

asshole i am being accused



i certainly would have

forgotten the fucking


J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape. He has been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, Cajun Mutt Press, Mad Swirl, Disturb the Universe Magazine and The Rye Whiskey Review. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)