A man, was passing in the street.
by the walkway of my workplace.
While I was smoking a cigarette.
The point was red and bright.
The painting of the sky was deeply black,
The backround, with tall buildings and a hospital by it.
But he had black eyes with a sickened bloody face.
And I did nothing.
The man didn't do a thing.
All I did was,
smoke the cloud of the life from my lungs.
And we looked at each other.
With sad eyes.
And we did nothing.
I hoped that I would rise but I didn't.
The man, he sank in the ground.
And when he died, I did nothing.