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Justin S Wampler Nov 2021
There's no... Glimmer.
No, sheen or glint.
There's not a single hint
of iridescent shimmer.

There's no learning,
nothing here to glean.
I've checked between
the lines, discerning
only a hollow vastness
where others have seen
bits of what it all means.
I've found only plastics.

Torn and terrible,
the way I've been.
A living dream,
nothing's untearable.
Justin S Wampler Nov 2021
Halloween was yesterday,
Thanksgiving is tomorrow,
and next week I'll be dead.
Justin S Wampler Nov 2021
I feel like chunky peanut butter started out
as a failed batch of regular peanut butter,
and they were all like
"****. What do we do with all this
partially blended peanut butter?"
Then the suits probably figured:
"market it as intentional,
******* rubes will buy anything."
Justin S Wampler Nov 2021
I think about my next drink
because I drink so I don't have to think.
I'm so over these hours spent sober,
when will this sober be over?
I take a nip but the bottle bites back,
I bite the bottle and I chew up the glass.
I'm never hung over with dread
because responsibilities hang over my head.
I know what I need to do,
do you know that the ***** needs me too?
In a bittersweet twist of fate
for every drink that I take
the drink takes a sip out of me,
and although I've plenty ***** left
my mind's now mostly empty.
Justin S Wampler Nov 2021
Dappled, isn't it?
Slotted bits of sun rays.
A radiant dalmatians coat
sprawled upon messy bedclothes.

***** sheets.

Always *****, no matter.
Yes, they've been changed.
Thousands of times, they've been changed.

That sparse sunlight
shines.
It highlights the
grime
and the sweat.







I awaken to a stiff neck,
and stretch out the cracks
and the pops
from my spine.
My bones sigh as I flick a switch.

The shower runs,
coffee is brewing in the kitchen.

I hum.

I'll be humming
for eternity,
walking through grass
and clods of mud.
My worn boots go on,
begging for a cobbler.

I'll see the sky,
the sun shares it with the daytime moon.
I'll whisper to myself:
It'll be time for bed soon.

A couple hours.

A few beers,
or whiskeys.

Waiting for that ever dependable
dappled sunlight.
It always comes.

Until it doesn't.
Justin S Wampler Nov 2021
She had melted mud
on her pretty palms.
With a tentative touch,
we held hands.
It subtlety squished
between gritty grips,
dripping down
to the foyer floor.
I saw it suddenly stain.

The ringing rain.

Wild winds
creaked, crashed,
and bent boughs.
The storm sighed
a bitter breath,
the mud made
a blood bond,
and I softly spoke:

"Don't drop
my hollow hand,
make mud
our only
counted care.
"

She said,
with a tiny twist
of her happy head:

"Why are you talking like that?"
Justin S Wampler Nov 2021
30 M 5'8" 160lbs

Don't really have my **** together.
Live in a small apartment with drop ceilings.
Still **** the bed occasionally.
Borderline alcoholic.

Rolled the dice on a **** the other day
and I **** my pants.

Balding prematurely.
Emotionally unavailable.
Intimacy issues.
Afraid of commitment.
Vape constantly.
Currently ******* my Fleshlight twice a day.

I don't fold my laundry,
just dump it in a pile on the couch.

Can't cook,
clean occasionally.
Brush my teeth once a day.
Pretend to be a writer to garner attention.

Outwardly come off as brooding and intellectual,
actually just endlessly introspective.
Have no valuable skill set,
will not be able to provide.

I have curtains,
but they're really just leftovers from my ex
and now I use them as fancy hanging napkins.

Bad case of foot fungus.

Terrible with money,
impulsive and predictable.

Generally lethargic but still skinny
due to malnutrition.

Looking for a woman to love me then leave me,
fulfilling my endless cycle of self-pity.
All in all a total man-child with little to offer.
Hit me up, prolly not doing anything.
You'd think honesty wouldn't be so revolting.
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