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for most of my life now
her eyes had
a murderous
intent
i’ve been
willing for
most of my
life now
that soft skin
the slight tremble
of anticipation
we can laugh
about it now
those haphazard
moments where
the itchy trigger
finger doesn’t
quite understand
the concept of
timing
the world may
think of us as
irresponsible
but we never
had any children
and only harmed
those that deserved
it
the american dream
all due to my childhood
police across the street
on a sunday afternoon
it finally feels like the
holidays
booze soothing old
wounds
enough weed to get
a dead man high
dysfunction clings in
the air like doubt and
suffering
those that live on hope
in these times amaze
me
i’m simply not wired
that way
and yes, once again,
i know it is all due
to my childhood
just like my insatiable
need for black women
in my life
never finding the love
from my father
and my pure hatred for
liver and onions
some scars never leave
joyless existence
a joyless existence
but just enough fortune,
just enough good luck
disguises the truth that
not enough love, not
enough of the shit that
matters creates despair
but as any self-described
genius can attest
being stubborn as fuck is
a knife that cuts both ways
noble to be prolific, but
there could always be
another way
life exists somewhere
between the extremes
but too many times
the narrative becomes
my way or the highway
think of all the open roads
and the places you have
never seen because conformity
was the only reality you were
allowed to know
smoke something your parents
warned you about and be sure
to lace it with all the unused
energy wasted all these years
new year new you
trite, but if it gets you to actually
experience something
so be it
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is stuck in the suburbs, plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Synchronized Chaos, Horror Sleaze Trash, Cajun Mutt Press, The Beatnik Cowboy, and Jellyfish Whispers. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, Evil Delights.