ghosts creeping in the back of your mind
turn on the sad songs
and remember the only
time she kissed your
lips
another empty bottle
for the floor
saturday night alone
again
the lost souls raging
right until the sunset
ghosts creeping in
the back of your
mind
surely one of them
must think you were
the one that got away
everyone laughs and
opens another bottle
and here you thought
women liked a good
sense of humor
these hands used to make you smile
lost in the deep
pools of regret
buried in the old
books of wise old
men smart enough
to find love and
squeeze it until
death greets them
one evening
i'd give anything
to hold you this
evening
your dark hair
and soft skin
sending my
imagination
racing
these hands used
to make you smile
perhaps one day
they can be of
service to you
again
two in the morning
wishful thinking
at two in the
morning
your lips should
be somewhere
near mine right
now
instead they are
wrapped around
a cock not attached
to my body
i look at my bottle
of lotion with
disgust
how many pumps
until it starts to
feel like you
pour another glass
of something
strong
and this time
add a few pills
J.J. Campbell has given up the farm life and is trapped in suburbia. He's been widely published over the years, most notably at Chiron Review, Nerve Cowboy, Dead Snakes, The Camel Saloon and Horror Sleaze Trash. His most recent collection, Sofisticated White Trash (Interior Noise Press), is available wherever you happen to buy books these days. You can find J.J. most days bitching about things only he cares about on his highly entertaining blog, evil delights. (http://evildelights.blogspot.com)
