J.J. Campbell

in the wastelands of america

random acts of violence
on the back country roads

a slit wrist night in the 
wastelands of america

hope is the last train that 
leaves on a friday night

you remember drinking 
moonshine under the 
bridge on a rainy 
afternoon

trading kisses like the 
world would be ending 
soon

those lost dreams still 
come to me on every 
other lonely night

it wasn’t supposed to 
be this hard

to be nothing but broken 
bones, broken homes,
streets filled with needles
and curious little kids

the rain drops off the 
roof like blood

the neighbors are starting 
to wonder if the rumors 
are true

good thing they don’t 
have the balls to ask