It's the exasperation I float on the way I take a deep breath in through flared nostrils after a tiresome sigh as the sour and almost sweaty air fills my lungs I am lifted head above the water barely staying afloat day after day week after week year after year maybe it's time I went under
I have penned many emotions that bled endlessly on the page, but blood only flows for so long before it congeals and then it evaporates and a stain is left reminding me of a time I once bled.
It was like water to my mind but water has many forms and the form that intercepts my mind is one of solid matter. All are instances now frozen within, the thought is there static non linear and remote.
My words may die, but my thoughts progress. I am only human and we bleed less and less. Fear not for the thaw will come and like a river my words may not bleed but trickle ever so often.
Fed up at the moment, cant see any reason for writing :(