the city still sells milk cartons with missing people's faces on them. sometimes, the faces aren't faces and the names aren't names. most times they are a void of what it is to be a human. what is missing must not have been human at all.
with every new milk carton, there comes a new face.
i don't worry much about the people that go missing. people come and go and never come back. and nothing would take away someone away from their homes unless the one being taken has agreed to walk out their door hold hands with the man holding a scythe or the woman with crosses for eyes.
where will you hide,
when the moon rises?
and there's a new carton in the fridge. the person missing is only a black blob. a dark figure. an uneasy feeling. their name was lee. common, too broad. last seen: in the cornfields. the city does not have a cornfield anywhere. he will not be found any time soon.
on the news station, where sometimes the broadcasts are just of the table and glass window and no people, they will talk about the ones who went missing. who are missing. never "was" missing.
the newscasters look dead, i've noticed. they have the same eyes as the mayor. as the man who owns the deli shop. as the police officers with silver bullet teeth. it must have been the mayor who made them like this. it wouldn't be the most senseless idea.
there was one who went missing. this was most peculiar because this one looked human. flesh, blood and bone. not a single hint of corruption hidden in her eyes. she looked young in the picture they showed. she looked happy as well. i wonder where she is now. is she still missing, or has she gone to the moon?
will you meet your ends
in shooting stars and
useless sacrifices?
when i was a kid, i used to think that the people who went missing had gone to the moon. i wanted to be one of those people.
but the sky is so close to the moon. i am not safe from the skies. i am not safe anywhere.
and the day after, i found my face on the side of a milk carton.
last seen: his kitchen
have you seen me?
