hardly saffron

All I can do is express myself in drawings in my mind, nothing I can realize on the page.  I can't help but be exactly who I am, which is goddamned shame a mathematical majority of the time.

I'm imprinted in ink, a close and frenetic scribble.  Press your pen to the page and clench your fist, try to resist. 

A close and frenetic scribble, pen marks straying to the edge of the page.  I'm trying to pull

(try to resist hurting anyone, and by anyone you mostly mean you)
I'm trying to pull myself together.