Friday, May 22, 2020

a smoldering sunset
 
listless mornings
insomnia running
the show
 
it's a song an old
lover dedicated to
you over fifteen
years ago
 
soon a smoldering
sunset and another
empty bottle
 
what if ran out of
reasons years ago
 
apathy gave birth
to a depression that
will eventually take
your life
 
happiness is as
foreign a concept
as teaching yourself
to speak russian
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
all the future bleakness
 
nostalgia is a cancer
that eats my brain
 
the alcohol seems
to be my fuse to
change that
direction
 
for i no longer
think about old
lovers or past
triumphs
 
those nights are
full of all the
future bleakness
that awaits these
golden years
 
death will surely
be a sweet relief
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
oh so close
 
heartbroken
and damaged
 
the soft curves
walking away
remind you
that you were
oh so close
to actually
enjoying life
 
instead
 
it's the bottle
 
coltrane
 
and wondering
if tonight is
the night you
cook up a shot
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
along comes the neon queen
 
walls closing in and that shotgun
in the corner looks so damn inviting
 
along comes the neon queen and
she places a virtual kiss upon your
lips
 
suddenly, the storm clouds seem to lift,
much like as you hope that little black
dress she's wearing does as well
 
every blue moon these lonely nights
reveal a purpose for yet another trip
down that never-ending road of hope
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
like a machine gun
 
the words flow
some days like
a river
 
on the bad days
i think of them
flowing like a
machine gun
 
regardless
 
you can't have
a revolution
without a few
dead bleeding
into the earth
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
that cold reality
 
it's been years since
anyone has loved me
 
plenty tried to trick
me into thinking i
was loved
 
all in the name of
whatever fucking
scam they were
running
 
but that cold reality
slaps me in the face
each morning
 
it's not that i don't
want to be loved
 
it's not that at all
 
poor souls don't
have a chance in
this world anymore
 
a little coltrane for
the rest of the evening
 
contemplating suicide
while seeing what
watercolors do best
on cheap cardboard
 
i can't say i'm afraid
to die alone
 
it's not what i would
prefer but i'm also a
blunt realist
 
there's a shotgun in
the corner for a reason
------------------------------------------------------------
J.J. Campbell

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