My Pen Bleeds

My pen only bleeds what I see in real life
As I plant and plow the seeds of uniqueness into each bit of prose
in order to make it satiate the needs of my convictions
In addition to enabling others to heed my recognition as t
hey read in wonderment and suspicion about which alter ego I choose to portray
Day to day I make an attempt to please others with my passion, emotion and dismay.
You see, this pen conceals all the feelings that I possess...
The spilling of the ink symbolizing my distress and
The evenflow of my thoughts,
even flows even through the mental bloodclots
becoming more strengthened with every I dotted and t crossed.
As each idea that is tossed in my head eventually blemishes the tablet as I scribe
as if in a trance...

As my pen bleeds I constantly need a mental IV in order to remain balanced
as I continue to quench these poetic thoughts.
Aspirations become actual as if only for a moment as I place myself into the mindset of what minds desires or hope that would transpire as to inspire what happens next
And as my pen continues to bleed,'
only my pen can dissect the enigma that is my thoughts as to eloquently bisect the intersection of my minds wants and what it needs so I never know what to expect.
Poetry is....ME.... As my pen bleeds...what I see...in life