My All in Your Nothing.

I saw a boy
riding his bike,

a cigarette hanging
from his cold wet lips,
as the rain came
shattering down,
and the black
shimmer of asphalt
shot up.
The street accepted
the boy as he was.
'Those things will kill you,'
he imagined hearing.
'What won't?'
he replied to no one.
Sometimes, I think that boy is me.