|
UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
|
|
JJ CAMPBELL
the forecast called for rain another weekend spent indoors dreaming of new addictions wasting time flipping through sports and home improvement shows i'll get to that new addition right after i mow the lawn as i tell my mother who has a growing concern for my well being i can't die soon enough i don't see you playing in traffic she says that's the beauty of apathy and depression i tell her i want to die but someone is going to have to do it for me and living out here in the sticks i'll probably have to send directions a chance to take down a brick or two my sports teams are struggling finding the right words anymore is a fucking hassle and a chore my hands are starting to reject me during masturbation and to torture myself i spend my afternoons staring at a picture of the woman i loved in high school and how happy she looks with her husband now for the outsiders they will call this a phase for the ones that know me they know this is a cry for a loaded gun, a bottle of whiskey and a few nights home alone it'd be so much easier for someone else to do it if they only had the nerve to remember i exist and if only apathy would allow me a chance to take down a brick or two regardless all of us know this is a pathetic plea to take up space, to matter, to be something other than what i've been given this stoic insane face thumbing through an old fashion rag tired, thinking about what could have been loneliness oozes from my pores like a poison i'm tired of faking it and this stoic insane face has seen enough but the gun reeks of cliche pills and booze have all been done razor blades are for hacks and who wants to be another fucker to dance with a train this fucker has chosen attrition one day my patience will be rewarded a bedtime story every night i close my eyes i see a lemon flavored hatred hidden behind every door your candy lips trace a bloody outline of my soul our perfection is now a blackened lung and in the silence of a full moon we both can hear every heart break we'll meet again some lonesome day some old abandoned town west of the guilt river down by where the future is buried goodnight my princess you shall be missed J.J. Campbell (b. 1976) lives, writes but mostly dies a little each day in Brookville, Ohio. He's been widely published over the years, most notably in Zygote in My Coffee, Nerve Cowboy, Chiron Review, Thunder Sandwich and Babel Magazine. You can contact J.J. via email at jcampb4593@aol.com |
|
© 2008 Underground Voices |
|
|