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Justin S Wampler Mar 2022
I want to eat
until I don't feel anymore
because
when I feel
I don't want to eat anymore.




I'm going to start seriously drinking again
because
I've been doing a lot of serious thinking again.

**** rhyme.
It's been made
ten thousand times.
*******.
**** me.

If you die
before me,
I'll exhume you
and curl up
against the
cold flesh.

Finally your outside
will match
your insides.

Chilled,
and rotting.
Justin S Wampler Mar 2022
Looking for love
is looking for somewhere new
to run away from.

Searching for someone,
to then leave
for something else.

Touch,
momentarily feel
what could be.

What never will.
Justin S Wampler Mar 2022
The simple joy
of taking a massive dump.

Rushing home, feeling the pressure.

Fumbling with my keys in the door.

Dropping my coat to the floor.

Sitting,

sweet release.
Justin S Wampler Mar 2022
There is nothing I've found
that quite rivals the sound
of a loaded gun.

Love is a dulled knife,
but throughout my life
it's the only tool I've known.

Bled all these words free.
The pen bled out for me,
now an inkless, plastic bone.

With these three simple things
im beginning to bring
meaning into my soul.
Justin S Wampler Mar 2022
This is misery
wrapped up in a tasty, flakey
egg roll pastry.

Bite right into me,
see what comes flowing
through your teeth.

This is misery,
we are history,
and we're never coming home.

This is misery it's
not a mystery
how we ended up alone.

It's distracting me
how the distance between
just never seems to shrink
at all.

This is misery,
somber symphony
of a thousand creaking bones.

We're still history,
a book brimming with grief
for what could've been
but now no one will ever know.
What happened to me?
Did I always bounce between
the present and futures unknown?

This is misery,
don't call out for me,
I'm never coming home.
Justin S Wampler Feb 2022
But you don't know what it is.

Dropped something,
patting my pockets.
Feeling for what is not,
yet what should be.

Knife, wallet,
phone, keys.
Gun.
Smokes, matches.
Vape, shades.

All here
and accounted for,
yet...
The worst feeling is knowing you're forgetting something,
but not knowing what it is.
Justin S Wampler Feb 2022
God let out a sigh in the morning frost,
burying the valley in billows of thick fog
and as I drove, white knuckled, through
his great exasperation with utmost care.
I saw the evil within myself painted so
meticulously in the rear view mirror.
A toothy demon looked back at me as
I smiled, after smearing cold, gray asphalt
with the blood of some crossing rodent.
I was pleased with the double thwump
sound, indicating that I had ran it down
with both the front and the rear wheels.
Killing **** felt good that dank morning,
I relished in the thought, in the blind fury.
I quivered in delight at the idea of burning
gasoline, chuffing choking clouds and fumes
into the air to mix with this blinding fog.
I gnashed my teeth hungrily at the notion
of polluting the beauty that surrounds us all
while bouncing the needle off the rev limiter.
I wanted to watch it all perish, I wanted to
find every last happy person on earth and
drown them in a river of my filthy anguish.
I felt my anger swelling, and I swam into its
rippling currents. I dove into that sea of rage
and drank greedily of it's salted undertow.
My mind was a plane of fire, a flat rift of pain
where everything I've ever loved would never
be allowed to love anyone or anything again.
Jaw clenched so hard I felt a molar crack and
a rivulet of auburn blood trickled down my chin.
I saw my destiny flash before me in a sudden
blaze of pulsing red warning lights popping
through the dewy fog, and before I had time to
even consider an apology to whatever it was
that I called God, the inside of my windshield
became plastered with the contents of my skull
as I crashed full speed into the back of a stopped
school bus.

Finally happy,
yet still a poor soul.
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