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A few people have said that I'm extremely bold and brave. I don't feel brave. I don't consider myself bold. I have spent nearly two years in near complete silence over this issue of the stalking. I feel burned-out. My reactions are simply those of processing and reclaiming whatever little I may. Some police officers of the past have said that I didn't looked scared enough. How would they know? They don't live with me. They don't know me. They've hardly spoken to me. They don't know my background, which is European, and prides public composure under pressure while frowning on hysterics. I've been through the gamete of shock, disbelief, denial, terror, additional shock, increased terror, anger, outrage, numbing, burned-out. I've circled these cycles minus the last stage more than once. The burned-out phase is both numb and static. It seems that being burned-out is permanent for the victim. Being burned-out is all encompassing, a lack of caring, a processing the last parts, the last rights, in retrospect right before laying it to rest, letting it go adrift, to become whatever it may. The A-P appears to be near by again, for certain, proven, without doubts, his car spotted at his family member's home a mile away, and I don't care any longer. Let him stalk and destroy until he implodes or until some form of tangible consequences greet him snarling repercussions within his core. One way or another, what goes around really does come around. The A-P is left owning the problem and holding the bag for his future, as a being or as a stalker, whatever he chooses. Thus will he pay the ultimate price in Karma or whatever it is called, it does exist. I don't own this disaster anymore, he does. It's his gift, earned and crafted and branded into his soul over years' time. It's his gift of misery to himself.
By Lady Lost
Copyright � 2002
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Copyright
International Copyright
No rights to copy, print, download, duplicate, or display elsewhere other than upon this specific website granted or implied without the direct written permission of the author. Please contact agent of the author: Mr. Gunther S. Vanludwick at [email protected]
**As with all poetry, essays, correspondence and/or published letters, e-mails or other communications presented on this webpage, this poem is a personal subjective expression of its author's own feelings, thoughts, beliefs, and opinions. This statement is in no way intended to invalidate or minimize the powerful and poignant experiences of this author. However, this statement is intended to indicate that creative expressions such as these written forms of artwork are derived from their author's own personal feelings, thoughts, beliefs and opinions
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