you don’t draw

my right hand is tired.

in it was a pen which scrawled lines across lined paper for an hour in the semi-darkness of television glow. interesting lighting. though many of my drawings done in the dark i was most pleased with.

i don’t draw.

i have always been bad at it. tonight i was compelled to draw. the same face over and over. gaunt. was it my own face – an image of my perceived self… perhaps, though at the moment i feel it is less than that. simply a face i must draw.

i attempted a woman’s face, and though never drawing one i was satisfied with, i got a good idea of the hair and eyes.

i do not draw.