On Composition

To compose great writing, you must bleed words.

But to bleed you must pick the sword up and fight. A lot. The desire preceeds the need. And when the words are stringed altogether in the bloodbath of thoughts and love, know that its still just words. And its still just for you.

The composed art lies within, to be revealed once you wash the red away and only the deep stains which must remain, remain.

With the revelation, also immerses away your burden of ownership. As it should. The art was by you, now its for all.