Inkvein

What flows through the veins
ain't the same as what flowed
through those deep arteries.
There's warmth of the new
and the boil of youth in the depths.
But as it's beaten through the heart
a few times over, it begins to
run cold, lose colour, rises 
with experience to the surface.
And everytime the heart suffers,
the arteries don't, but veins do.
Sometime stories, often poetry.
Arteries bear blood, but
the veins always bleed ink.
Blood only seeks survival,
and preservation of the now;
while the ink strives to live
even beyond when it has dried.
So even if all my blood is drained,
may I be spared at least one
single drop of ink, to bid 
my final farewell to my beloved.