My stalker punched the dingy wall of her asylum cell to the tune of an echo heard by the bored warden. She’s addictive like a drug or a fine glass of wine. She seduces weak men to feed her fragile ego. She steps over men with intimidation and leaves them begging for death.

Should the judge release her for good behavior, I’m afraid she’ll leave no stone unturned until she finds me. And I’m not ready to die, not until I apologize for turning her in. She took ownership of the drugs, so I guess we’re even. And I’m still addicted.

(© 2022 AC)

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