Who takes the missing posters down
After the body has been found?
I keep a small object in my pocket
Touch it every once in awhile
Just to remember that I’m me
In rooms where I fake my smiles
Do they recycle the paper?
Do they hear the highway sounds like a river
As they leave behind shadows of tapers
My mother thanked me. for not. smoking
Even as I blew smoke in her face
I keep a small pocket in my object
In rooms where I can’t find a trace
I wish when I was younger I’d had the confidence to look directly at the camera.
I’m always staring at the ground
I wish they’d take those posters down
The social media accounts?
Where I’m reminded you’re you
In the smiles where they hide
After you’ve died
In fake rooms