I’m assuming you want to know about that thing I did. Oh hoping you remember who I am. Maybe after I explain that thing. Then you will recognize me. Well It was two thousand and ten. I was lost both figuratively and physically. Some how I ended up at a tattoo parlor after my Noona had died. I wasn’t on anything. I just slightly recall leaving school early and feeling empty. I guess you could call it a stage of grief. It was more than denial it was more than loss of someone I loved. It was a loss of self. I ended up at some well known tattoo place. Although highly reviewed for great safety, cleanliness and good staff. It was dark and dingy. The waiting room was black, as in the whole building was black and there where stripes randomly allocated.
As I waited I recalled of a design that captured my attention years ago. It was an insect. I don’t like describing it in detail because well it would take to long. Anyways, that day I shouldn’t have done it but I did. I got that tattoo. Little did I know what it would do to me. Yeah who thought a regular gothic tattoo would cause trouble. It is just ink right? No, wrong. I was wrong and you are wrong. We are incorrect for assuming all tattoos are just artistic work that can be slapped on like a sticker. Now you know what the thing was. It wasn’t long until that thing made my nights worse. Specifically witching hour. ©️untappedwriter.org
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