Inked

I’m already second guessing myself and it’s barely a stencil on my skin. I’m glancing at the clock and shaking my leg again. Shit, I need to stay still. I want a pristine portrait not a Picasso! I’m thirsty, wait did I remember to eat enough?

This isn’t even my first time, why am I losing it? The tattoo gun starts buzzing and I press down on my thigh to stop the shaking. She asks if I’m ready and I lie and say yes as tiny needles begin to pierce my skin and she starts talking about the weather.

It’s fall but it’s hot in here but maybe it’s just me? What if I tell her to stop now? This is an overwhelming feeling. Like cat scratches over and over in the same place. There’s beauty after the pain though here. I keep trying to remind myself the pain is only temporary, just annoying like a toothache.

I need to stop looking at the clock. It’s not helping the little lines connect any faster and I’m gonna give myself whiplash if I keep looking up so fast in hopes the damn minute hand moved.

What if I screw up and this gets infected and my skin falls off and I have to live on a weird island alone with my thoughts????? Here I am breaking down my entire future life on an island by myself when she leans back and smiles.

Oh, she’s finished. It stings but it’s more than I could have imagined, art brought to life upon my skin. The clock did move. My skin is not falling off. I decorated another part of myself with a new story to tell. The ache is worth it.