I wrote Ink Stains over a year ago, but it's still my personal favorite when it comes to my writings because it's an illustration that's as litteral as it is metaphorical of the poison you spent weeks, months, shooting me up with.

I don't know whether it was the pain or the poison - or both - I was high on; but I've been doing all I can so I never find either in my veins again. Because I'll give up all sorts of insightful precision in a heartbeat for a cloud.

I nevertheless remember what the stains looked like, how I wanted to try encrypting, too, the time I spent fascinated, watching lead disappear into your skin, and mine - and when I see that new invisible ink pen I was given the other week out of the corner of my eye, for a second, I do think to myself I would've won the poison competition within seconds with this one.

Then I let the thought float away.