THE SPARROW'S TRAGIC MELODY
It has been two weeks since that fateful encounter with the man/ghost Pavayne, the evil, evil man/ghost who left me broken and bleeding, lying naked on the floor.
Illusions never change, into something real. And that song is so true, in the soulful tunes of Natalie Imbruglia.
How I wish I had not been raped. I watched that demon thrust his sword into Angel, and I could only remember the terrible agony of excrutiation as a similar sword only of the flesh, man/ghost type, penetrated me.
Those hearts, the hearts torn out tonight by the cruel and merciless creature, are like my heart—broken, torn, bleeding,
DEAD.
Pavayne ripped my heart from my chest with his terrible horrendes awful violation of myself.
Will there ever be a day I can learn to accept what has been done to me?
I don't know, I don't know.
Perhaps I can put this in the past, many sunsets from now.
But, I don't know. I don't know.