I write with a leaky pen
Because I like to get dirty.
I want to see myself,
Flowing,
Leaking unceasingly
Onto paper.
I want to leave a mess.

I want to feel the day’s labour
Upon my hands, soaking in with
The colour of my blood.
Applying itself onto page
After page covered in crimson
And finally turning
Into rust.

I don’t mind that the ink is everywhere.
It’s an intricate mess that takes
A bit of work to wash out.
Let the ink seep into me.
I want to feel my work,
My words upon myself.

Everything can remain a mess,
Everything cam remain askew.
All I ask in return from you
Is beauty.
Make me see the world as you do
So I don’t have to be in mine,
All awash in ink
Seeping into my clothing
And my skin,
Until I cannot see
even myself.

Use your words
And rinse me through,
Come wash me clean
And wring me dry.
Then leave me on the side
For the next passerby.