J.J. Campbell

the taste of blood on christmas morning


there’s a joy

in her laughter


a sense of danger

with the stare


it’s the taste of blood

on christmas morning


lost in the neon haze

of an old string of

lights and another

glass of something



two old souls passing

like ships in the night


you meet some people

in your life and just

know if this or that

would have happened…


you wouldn’t be the

miserable fading fuck

lost in this terrible



although, world peace

as your wish for

christmas is something

you should know by

now is a myth reserved

for children


no adult should even

think such a thing is



the new kitchen floor


i can remember

fucking you on

the new kitchen



i made you

breakfast in

that kitchen

the next



a week later

you decided

you were better

off as just a



i offered her

the bed but she

had to have it

right there


and the floor

wasn’t dirty



let’s just say

anytime i see a

white linoleum

floor i get slightly



a loaded shotgun


these are the mornings

where i imagine myself

on my grandmother’s

bathroom floor


and instead of my

cousin’s nipple in

my mouth, it’s a

loaded shotgun


and then i imagine

just how much easier

life would have been

if that was my fucking



i never lived all these

years expecting anyone

to understand my pain


i just wanted someone

to tell me it was going

to be okay


no one could understand

that either


all these hard truths

forced down my throat

like i was an unwilling

participant in life


no one could wrap their

heads around the fact

that my taste for pain

is an infinite shield

that only i can control


and as soon as i fully

believe that lie

i’ll truly be immortal


a nightmare to all

and the envy of none


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