Victims Question

I saw him,    
while I was walking.    
My eyes gave away my fear, as did my clenched jaws.    
I did not know what to do.    
Closer, and closer, and closer He came.    
He looked into my eyes, my soul,    
And I know he saw fear.    
I wanted to stop, but I know that if I did,    
I would have stayed frozen.    
There were so many people around-    
I could not cry.    
     
When I saw him,    
I could not breathe-    
I struggled to find my inhaler-    
He smiled at me, as if he enjoyed that I might die of his presence.    
When he smiled, I felt sick.    
Sicker than the most deadliest disease.    
I wanted to vomit;    
But all I could do was walk,
Faster and faster    
until he disappeared.    
                                  
But I know, and my mind knows    
That he will never disappear.    
the retched and virose    
memories of pain and guilt    
will always be incarcerated in my mind.    
     
     
I feel whiter, paler    
than the palest ghost;    
I feel Dead.    
That is all I feel    
when I see him, or    
feel his presence.    
It's the closest I have    
ever came      
to my fear.      
Now,    
Every time I close my eyes,    
I see him.    
     
                                                           You are the disease    
                                                           that I am cursed with;    
                                                           The [i]sin and plead    
                                                           Of a saints last wish.    
                                                           You are the metal chains    
                                                           of fire that cut into my flesh,    
                                                           Leaving nothing but hideous scars.    
     
     
                                                           You are the curse that    
                                                           smiles with joy    
                                                           when your victim    
                                                           witnesses pain.    
                                                           You are the Only "Thing"    
                                                           in this planet that I hate.    
                                                           You are [b]NOT a Person,    
                                                           nor an Human to Me,    
                                                           you are Nothing but an enemy.    
                                                           Darker than a black hole (which is what you own)    
                                                           Colder, and more painful than hard ice;      
                                                           in contact with bone.[/b]    
  [/i]  
Every breath that I take;    
Every stroke that I create.    
Makes me bleed and vomit-    
Scream a deathly sonnet.    
     
You know What you did,    
and You know How You felt    
When You did it.    
You know how much pain    
You caused,    
and You know Why I hurt.    
I cannot bare to keep on writing;    
But I know I must,    
Because it is the closest    
to freedom that I will ever be.    
     
The question that                      
us victims ask is:    
[i]Why?    
Why  
Me?