I find myself
I'm dead in an ink page
Hostage in your photos
I'm sorry, sad I find living up to myself a scary ideal

But really, all I am is the clacking of teeth
And those who don't hesitate to remind me
Aren't nice, aren't my friends really,
'*** friends don't talk philosophy

I'm looking for what I see as me
I'm tired - worn raggish
I'm hopeless and bored
And fickle in the words I write

Ink paint is tinted blood
Water colour is see-through meaning
Mish, mash, mosh
Nice to meet what you see as me