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
