Ink Stains

Ink stains but you still would use it, convinced that you were entitled to, with your excuse right by your side just in case you'd happen to need justification.

One would've thought "well, at least you're using washable ink" and it would've been your excuse, too, but you only were using washable ink so you could use more of it.

Because I'd be covered with ink and as soon as I walked out of the shower, you'd be there waiting with your quill pen, you'd be standing there just waiting to encrypt me some more.

I'd be covered with ink and therefore I'd stain too, everything I touched I stained with you. It had to be my fault because you would already have hidden away your quill pen in your pocket, with your wallet on top, and I was left with all the ink, stained with encrypted words, and nobody could make sense of it, and nobody wondered about the pen.

So when you were done, the ink stains on your body seemed to be traces of me, when they really were evidence of you. And there was a sick shift and one would've said you were stained with me and you stood there not uttering a word - and only I knew the quill pen was right there, right under your wallet.

One would ask why I didn't speak up - the thing is, I did, and that probably was my first mistake, because truth doesn't go a long way in your world. You just catch it and distort it - and soon, because you were the only one to really know, we wound up in a place of our own. I guess this is what you wanted all along, I guess you knew this is where the stains would lead me.

Of course you threw away your quill pens and got pencils 'cause they're cheaper and they don't stain. I guess ink stains but there are days I wonder - you'd think lead would be safer, lead wouldn't even show, and maybe ink stains because it remains on the outside and maybe lead disappears purely because it's absorbed by skin. And maybe you're really encrypting me from the inside this time, because I've just stopped talking and it's all within me and I can't seem to get it out.