And yet...
You are nothing.
An innocent white lamb left to stagger and cry on the rocks, far away from your mother as the dark wolves come ever closer to their dinner.
For I have dark skin, little one. I work for my place in this world, and come from the poorest country in the world. And I will devour you, at my leisure.
Why would I do such a thing you may ask? Take your beauty, your innocence from the world?
I am hungry, my eyes will reply.
You made me hungry.
And now I will feast.
This is an ironic counterpoint. Take as such. J