I've gotten worse at drawing.
Just the side-carried feeling
of knowing, gnawing
my insides, stealing
my focus on the better of it all,
numbs me enough to make me stay
down after the fall.

I drew her face in a clean and realistic way.
My pencil made her pure in shades of grey.
My eraser helped her see the light of day.

Still the rest of her is hidden.
I'd wish my existence was ridden
of this flawing
hypothesis.