his hair is his clothes are his voice is the scent just so his hands are his he is. his eyes are they are happy his eyes are happy his eyes are his imagine if they were yours mine i could become him but would i and if i could then will i there are so many tears i hold they slip between my fingers they could be his would they be his to become to wish and to imagine is to feel is it not and with it pain. falling sinking drowning would his eyes be happy will his eyes be happy will his eyes be will he would it be for such or is he never realized indebted soul to the theorized im not sure if my hands are fuller but either choice is incredible to be offered such a weight that is to water it pins me to the floor or to the wall it keeps me cornered is this what it feels to be killed or merely to have lived and if latter then perhaps id like to know the former.