Snake Oil

I’m the empty chair beside you.

I wander through lonely abandonment. 

Searching for something that can’t be found.

All my instincts tell me to look the other way,

But beauty is a hard thing to run from.

Whistling through the graveyard,

Counting fingers in the dust.

Palm your chemical sacrament,

So your virgin mother doesn’t see.

Draw your face from the river,

You can be my smiling mask.

I can’t face points south now.

I can’t wait ’til we reach our fever pitch,

But you know you can’t experience day

Until you survive the night.




~ by Jesse Stonefield on April 18, 2014.

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