Tattoos

I dreamt, again, last night, that I got some tattoos. Three tattoos on my right arm.
One of a turtle, with the word 'turtle' under it.
One of an arm. A tattoo of an arm, bicep curled, inked onto my bicep. How meta.
The third was a small green jewel, drawn on my wrist. Badly.
It didn't hurt, in the dream. And at first I really liked them, though I can't say why, considering how tasteless they were. Then someone pointed out to me that they were ugly. And permanent. And suddenly came the revelation, the disgust, the regret. I spent the rest of the dream walking around looking for somewhere that did tattoo removal.

I have had this dream more times than I can count. Different tattoos, in different places. Always hideous. And always, the sense of regret is enormous, overwhelming; it consumes me, devours me whole. And every time I wake, the relief is immense. I feel reborn, clean, as though I have had a second chance at life.

I've always listened to my dreams, a little. I haven't gotten a tattoo, for example. Because it seems that's what the dream is telling me. But now, I realise, that I was never really listening. No, not at all. Because I think in reality it's a dream about regret. About the permanence of my actions, about how the past cannot be undone. Though I try to pretend that, in forgetting, it is gone. No, no. Never gone. It will never be gone. There is no laser removal. And though my actions don't show up as ugly markings on my skin, they will never go away.

I am full of regrets. I am so regretful. I am covered in ugly, invisible tattoos.
And I should realise that if I don't want ugly tattoos, then I shouldn't get them in the first place.