Your crescent eyes look at me moist like a marshy pond.
All the pain and beauty those eyes have ingested glossy and confused.
"I'm a **** up" you say as you drop the news.
You search so desperately to find a title to straighten your spine and give your story a purpose your flesh cannot find.
You are tremendous, a testament of life. Your eyes are a chasm of brooding emotion, utterly human.
I know how ravenously you claw and peck at the festering flesh of others searching for the nectar the cloying sweetness you miss within yourself.
But you are the golden honey ***.
You mistake the swarming bees for tasteless wasps.
You are horribly misconstrued.
The boys that bask themselves in synthetic sugar are simply hiding their innards of soot and poo.
I forgive you, but this doesn't matter.
You must find the golden honey gleaming behind the spackle of false propaganda you call your marrow.  
You are complete.
There is nothing dead inside you, things simply need tended to.
You are human, please never forget.
**** up is simply the veil you wear to hide this fact.