Mix and Match

I mix and match the colours when I paint.
The easel, splashed with messy overflows,
Displays my strengths, my weaknesses, the lows
And highs of my emotions. I feel faint,
I'm strong as iron, I'm a walking saint,
A crawling, wicked sinner come to blows
With destiny. For all anyone knows,
However, this is just a fool's complaint.

In fact, you all know who I really am:
The monster hiding underneath the bed,
The weaver of tall tales about the dead
(Let's sit upon the ground, my little lamb).
Happy or sad, who gives a good goddam?
So, do I wake or sleep? The music's fled.