My Ink Stained Hand

While I was writing in my journal, I accidentally cut myself on its sharp edge.
The paper sliced my knuckle leaving a slit in my soft skin.
Moments later it starts to sting, so I glanced at it expecting to see my own scarlet blood filling the gap.
Instead, I found black ink dripping from the cut. Words flowed through my mind as they did from my injury.
The cold ebon liquid ran down my hand staining the paper on which I was writing.
It appears as though its words needed to be printed also.
Eventually the pain began to sear my hand and I scurried to write everything that was gushing from my head.
Quickly writing, clenching my wounded fist I became so zealous that as I etched every perfect letter, my body trembled.
Whether it be from the throbbing in my hand or the eagerness to complete my masterpiece; I do not know.
I like to believe that it was because of both.
With ink stains upon my hand and all over my paper I finished the last piece and dashed swiftly to the sink.
I scrubbed my now onyx hand until I could scrub no longer.
The mania had ceased.
I dried off the remaining water upon my hands only to reveal black stains wedged within the crevices of my skin.
It had made its way to my fingertips and exposed my concealed fingerprints.


-Jessica-