J. J. Campbell

dark winter blues

by J. J. Campbell

endless grief

on these days

cold, dark winter

blues ripping the

night open with

heartbreak and

despair

the old lovers

come armed

to the teeth

they are out

for their pound

of flesh

you’re too cool

to play the victim

the sharp tongue

ready for any

battle

certain assholes

know how much

fun it is to burn

the fucking bridges

with people still

on it

in the back of my brain

by J. J. Campbell

searching for the words

some emotion that

describes the moment

some desire tucked deep

in the back of my brain

cheating death

running out the clock

on life

all my dreams have

been ruined before

i even got the chance

to have them

another bleary winter

day

the love of your life

somewhere unknown

to you

rinse and repeat

does nothing change

because i enjoy the

madness or i don’t

deserve any better

than this

in this damn void

by J. J. Campbell

another morning

that the world

didn’t end while

i was sleeping

yet another cup

of coffee that

isn’t strong

enough

trapped in this

damn void

destined for nothing

other than empty

promises and

endless suffering

love is a myth

anymore

one of those tales

you tell children

to give them hope

the sock drawer

by J. J. Campbell

i remember the first time i found

where my father hid his cash

he always was a simple fuck so

the sock drawer was the first place

i looked

a stack of twenties as high as the drawer

i took one and would continue to take

one every couple of weeks until my parents

got divorced

he paid for most of the alcohol, the music,

the drugs, the concert tickets and the books

the endless amount of books

i never thanked him for being a dumb fuck

he stopped talking to me long before he died

i still have dreams of setting the casket on fire

he’s buried at the veteran’s cemetery along

with his second wife

or how i like to think of it

the second family he ruined

i still have some of the books and music

those twenties bought back in the day

i wish i still had the drugs

i squeezed more creativity out of the

neon than i could ever imagine

the lasting angst

by J. J. Campbell

soft black skin

monday afternoon

thirty some years

ago

your lips tasted

like cherries

i always dreamt

the rest of you

did as well

lost chances

and the lasting

angst of what

could have been

time was supposed

to heal all this shit

more lies i guess

so children don’t

worry and have

ulcers before they

graduate high school

in this digital society

by J. J. Campbell

first day of spring

frost in the morning

sunshine all afternoon

the spanish princess

seems like a lost

dream

the muse comes and

goes like a cold wind

did you ever have a

dream so vivid that

it became a nightmare

every lost soul knows

the same three chords

subtle beauty gets lost

in this digital society

not sure which emoji

is used for that one

murder and discomfort

by J.J. Campbell

another muggy night

perfect for dreams

of murder and

discomfort

you can still see her

under the covers

peaceful, naked

ready for more

it is on nights like

these where you

realize you can

honestly fuck up

anything

of course, you

blame your father

he never taught

you the kiss theory

you had to learn

all the easy shit

the hard way

you have the

scars to prove

at least one small

part of your heart

still believes in

hope

some kind soul

still wants to love

you out there

find her before

a bullet, a needle,

or a priest

subjective at best

by J.J. Campbell

third cup of coffee

go ahead and grab

the plunger

somewhere the

woman of your

dreams is laughing

thinks you are funny

and is willing to

overlook your faults

at some point during

the strain you realize

dreams are subjective

at best

i always use cold water

on the bidet

helps to clear my mind

take the five horse for

the win and a longshot

for the show

one step from the degenerate

you always wanted to be

two steps from being

the same old asshole

that the world has

hated for over forty

fucking years

and be honest

three steps

who the fuck believes

that

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 Synchronized Chaos, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, and The Black Shamrock. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)