Gently my pencil sketches across the page as my sadness fills the spaces in the parchament. Gradually the greaving face of an angel appears before me. He is disharteded and fallen in the hands of dispair. Desperately he calls to me with this pain I feel inside. The massive white wings curl around him in protection from this hurt as he kneels in anguish. With an ache that cuts like a blade he holds his hands to his bleeding heart, a heart much like my own.

How could this happen to me? Why was I left all alone like this? Here I am like my half drawn angel in so much pain; so much regret that it has nowhere to go but upon the page. Nothing is left for me.

Carefully each feather is crafted; each strand of hair is shaded. Nothing matters to me now but my avitar. All reality is beyond me; another world in which I cannot see. My hand crafts the heartbreaking pleas that grases the page.

A tear falls from my eye as one forms upon my angel. Only I precieve this crystal and it falls to others unoticed.

Color. Yes, color is needed to illistrate my pain. I pull a ruby red from my wax rainbow and place the pencil upon the parchament. Soon bright streaks of blood begin to drip from my angel's soft hands and along his arms. My wound becomes his own, the heart that is forever broken.

All my sadness and remorse is let go into this image as I place my small mark bt his feet. It is forever locked uopn the page, my story of sadness. It becomes my treasure, my misery.

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I actually drew this picture. It can be found here ~ http://i34.photobucket.com/albums/d117/susakiart/woundedangel.jpg