It was the same during his time
His blood came from a bottle
The shape was the same
The cork
But he could not live by its memory alone

The further he descended into feeling
The less engaged he became
He could only observe
A ******
But he could not live if he could not love another

He drew every wall near to his hands
As they gestured aloud
His voice listened
A thought
But he could not live if it did not matter to anyone

He was a canvas for every person he met
He remembered their smiles
More so their tears
A reflection
But he could not live if he judged them wrongly