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.