Pages

My pen bleeds, 
And this page catches it's stains.
The stains set in 
A dark red color 
That my page can't seem
To differentiate
Like my page is color blind
Like it doesn't see
Or doesn't wish to see.
Maybe it fears 
The cold, tearing vocabulary
My words demonstrate,
My page has been there before..
Dripping words form
A rain of ideas,
An ocean of thoughts,
My next page can't comprehend.
It isn't able to handle my diction,
My tone,
My emotion,
Too much for one page to handle
For me to handle...
So a third page is in order
Again this page 
Is unable to handle
The vast extensiveness 
Of my mindset.
So many things
That It can't explain.
Contradicting
In that they are
Neither born nor created 
But are destroyed on this page.