(no title)

My life line is limited. I race across paper. I can not get rid of my mistakes. I smudge when wet.
I die when I am dry. I start out as wet as a swimming pool. I end as dry as a desert.
I struggle when I am dry.
I am the system to success to those long skinny yellow things. I make them perfect to perfection of broken with nothing. I am nailed to the wall. I only need cleaning once in a whole. I am used as much as someones legs. What am I?
My plant has buds