a partially full moon
so, it was me, the crickets
and a partially full moon
all we were missing was
the ghost of morrison
and however many dead
on the highway
visions of the muse trying
to make me a man
is it the blue pill, red
or green, oh, fuck it...
take them all
nothing matters where we
are going
the demons like to dance
to the dirty slow songs
while the hipsters are all
busy trying two turntables
and a microphone
be sure to bury my ashes
in the ocean
close to all the other
evil fucks
the stupid teenage shit
if i had a nickel
for every heartbreak
i imagine i would
still be poor
sometimes you just
have to sit back and
think what the fuck
did you do to deserve
this
even being honest
with the stupid
teenage shit
how does karma get
this fucking twisted
that we end up at
this point
at times, i feel like
the gun has already
been fired
i'm just waiting to
see where the bullet
enters my body
the good days it just
slightly misses
as for the bad days,
i do my best to close
my eyes and await
my fate
you would have locked it
we started to kiss
and i noticed the
door to the bedroom
was still open
she pulled away
and went over
to shut it
i said leave it open,
see if we get caught
she laughed as she
shut the door
i'm not that kind
of woman
i laughed and
said yes you are
if you weren't,
you would have
locked it
she smiled and
got down on
her knees
let the fun begin
all the tricks and treats
the soul breaks as the heart
gets trampled once again
this shit gets old once
you know all the tricks
and treats of the merry
go round
a tall glass of whiskey
and all your rowdy
friends
a party of none
these are the nights
where they expect
you will kill yourself
fools
you have money on
a few baseball games
now, if those bets
go sideways
you might as well
start writing the
obituary
having been a child
you can hear a pin drop
not many people are
comfortable with silence
it scares most people
as someone with no
children, i can't have
enough of it
but having been a child,
i understand why parents
fear it
i remember the shit
i did in silence
torture imaginary friends
bring down governments
with a few clicks on the
computer
and people wonder why
i don't want kids
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is stuck in
the suburbs, wondering where the lonely housewives are hiding. He's been widely
published over the years, most recently at Synchronized Chaos, The Rye Whiskey
Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy and Disturb the Universe
Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil
delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
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