In my nightmare it's the same boy,
hanging from the institutional ceiling tiles
He wears my current colleague's face and body,
my old acquaintance's clothes,
and my highschool friend's voice
All so young,
boyish boys believing they're ready to be men,
hating themselves completely when they are not,
and utterly afraid of my eyes.
I had never related to a sentiment more,
but you can't tell them that,
while they're hanging from the tiles.