dripping from your lips
whispering sweet
nothings to sleeping
angels on a lonely
saturday night
it must be years now
that i have chased
after this ghost
called love
a myth
a story told by
the elders
yet i can close my
eyes and see it
dripping from
your lips
and how i long for
those to be placed
right in the middle
of my soul
longing isn't the
right word anymore
this kind of desperation
usually ends up with
terms used by the police
the same lucky stars
wish upon the
same lucky stars
you saw the first
time you looked
in her eyes
somewhere
a wise man is
laughing about
the most beautiful
dream and the
nightmares that
followed
i haven't been
in love in so
long that i truly
don't know
what to do
in a sense, i
am freed from
those restrictions
although, it's
rather hard to
convince a cynic
that his next step
won't be into a
fresh pile of shit
dance in the glory
press your voodoo
lips upon my bloody
tears underneath the
last full moon either
one of us will ever
get to see
may we close our
eyes and dance in
the glory of the
drugs that brought
us here
acid rain dripping
off of the leaves
that refuse to change colors
my nightmares
are the only things
that ever have a
chance of coming
true
i catch the sparkle
of fading stars in
the corner of your
eye
this must be the
hell my mother
warned me about
J.J. Campbell (1976-?) lives and writes on a farm in Ohio. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Dead Snakes, The Camel Saloon, Pink Litter, Jellyfish Whispers, and Fuck Art, Let's Dance. His most recent book, Sofisticated White Trash (Interior Noise Press) is available wherever you happen to buy books these days. You can find him most days on his highly entertaining blog, evil delights (evildelights.blogspot.com)
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