I used to draw a lot.
Now the thought of bringing
Graphite to paper
Fills me with doubt… and trepidation.
And every time I try,
Or rather… think about trying…
My hand stops me
And asks me
If I really want to put her through
The experience of drawing something
I will only throw away.
*** Well… that’s a piss-poor excuse not to start drawing again. A downright cowardly one, Sugar Lips. ***
*** But my hands are raw from balling into fists and breaking pencils. ***
*** Pick up the fucking pencil, sharpen it to a fine stabbing point, and draw that thing that has been haunting you since the pall of plague draped itself over the world. Your lungs sputter and spray blood now. Aim it at the book of empty pages at your curled feet.***