Nihil

A bit from high school. I hate the poem--if you can even call it that--but I like the idea I had behind it.

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Nothing.
Created from mere particles of dust,
disgusting putrid mud.
Are you really human?
Do you look at the man huddled in the corner of the street and say,
"He is I?"
No.
You are mesmerized, hypnotized, repulsed
by that mouth that froths with drivel,
that face covered in dust,
the dust you came from!
His eyes twitch and the pupils swell,
then diminish to black beady dots
finished with the gossamer glaze of madness.
Sweat slithers down his face to rest on his panting tongue.
No hope.
He rocks, rocks, rocks, back and forth, hugging his knees.
You've killed him.

Do you not see his maddened eyes in yours,
the insanity lurking beneath your lucid eyes?
Look into the mirror.
Are you even human?
How can you be sure?
When mouths move,
do you imagine the words that spew forth?
Have you created your existence?
Is this existence even real?
Perhaps you are nothing,
and the whispers in you ear,
the distant screams,
the stars in the heavens,
are nothing more than your deluded imagination.
You are the insane man rocking in the street corner.
You are absolutely nothing.