calling the kettle

You lie.
You abuse others.
You are self-absorbed, though
there is nothing important about
you.

You wake
and sleep
and sometimes dream
in the interchangeable piles
of others,
a pebble on a very large mountain,
and you audaciously think that you are more;
that hope and difference
spark a small patch of brush in
you?

You are one of millions
walking through crowds
without faces.
Blank, cold eyes
hovering above slumped shoulders.
Tired.
Innocuous.
And so am
I.