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a poem by J.J. Campbell

even the imaginary friends have moved on

alone in bed

listening to the wind
whip this old house
around with ease

scribbling down some
words just in case anyone
may be interested one day

is it possible to bottle
a dying breath

could the final words
be one long uncomfortable

tears drip on the page

that tends to happen when
you realize just how deep
loneliness can actually get

even the imaginary friends
have moved on

another shot of something
strong and let john lee
hooker play you out

to the sunset in the back
of your mind's eye

a utopia of unwanted
children and gun-toting
nuns robbing banks in
the name of some god
unknown to you

© by J.J. Campbell
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #26 ~ April 2013