Missing

Broken by the vultures on a desiccating line, that slithered from Missing, on a road without the signs. A motion for a moment caught the never-watching eyes. They haven't seen Missing and no one heard the cries. A shape begins to form over the rising of the vapor. The one who takes life's missing and cuts them with a razor. The apathetic townsfolk in this god-forbidden place, refuse to sieze the moment and check Missing for a face. As night begins to burn the shadows into open skies, a light begins to scrape them off the ground where Missing lies. It shined down on a missing face that's pasted on the windows. A mark was from a razor and there's feathers from the pillows. They've taken and emblazoned them and shapes begin to clear. The shape that's in the vapor has a face that's full of fear. Missing has been found but it has always been too late, for anyone like Missing doesn't have the time to wait.