Could Your Sleepless Nights Be the Result of Organized Stalking? The Hidden Pain in Your Dreams

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'I think only of you! I speak only to you, and I act only for you!' - Perpetrator

This article is written in a dark comedy style.
It satirizes the obsessive and irrational behavior of gang-stalking perpetrators, portraying their blind devotion and absurd fixation.
The target has no interest in them whatsoever, yet they act like abandoned lovers, frantically clinging to meaningless actions.
Watch their ridiculous behavior unfold and enjoy laughing at their absurdity.
Gang stalking is not just harassment.
It may be an extreme form of manipulated madness, where perpetrators believe they are acting on their own, but in reality, they may be controlled by directed energy weapons and neuro-experiments.
Ultimately, this system serves as a tool for controlling society on a larger scale.
Now, let’s dive into this bizarre reality and ridicule it together.

< lang="en"> Could Your Sleepless Nights Be the Result of Organized Stalking?

Could Your Sleepless Nights Be the Result of Organized Stalking?

In the shadows, whispers play, a sinister game they partake,

With every corner that you turn, their mockery they’ll undertake.

A Theater of Shadows

From above and below, they plot, a cacophony of nonsense,

“Our connection’s special,” they say, “like a bad romance, a real offense!”

Like bats circling ‘round a flame, they twirl in chaotic motions,

Oblivious to reason's call, they drown in wild devotions.

Delivery drivers with tales to tell, racing past with words meant to dwell,

“Hey, just passing through…” they cry, as if you’d care, under their spell.

You’re the ghost in their theater, they’re just the jesters on the side,

Feeling special? Hardly—more like fictive, a dying star they ride.

The Daring Delusion

And in their sick obsession, they set the stage to play,

With tools that sound like rusted pain, they whisper, hide away.

As from upstairs, the floors complain, the giggles low and vile,

Are they fearful of the night? Or just keen for a while?

But alas! How weak their game, how fragile their displayed glee,

Jesters in an empty room, waving at shadows you can’t see.

While you lie awake, they dance and prance—a hide-and-seek gone rogue,

Haven’t they learned? In this theatre, you’re not part of their toadstool vogue.

In the End, Alone

They're tethered to your essence, each breath a thread they weave,

Yet you, a fleeting thought, will not stay, nor give reprieve.

Pathetic little puppets, do they not see the strangeness here?

Their existence hangs upon your fate, an absurdity so clear.

So dear reader, if night steals sleep and whispers claw at your spine,

Reflect on this: their plot is weak, your indifference is divine.

For in this circus of despair, you hold the key, the guard, the gate,

While they dwell in their delusions, you're the one who’s truly great.

So pat them on the head, these jesters with their grand design,

For a ‘beautiful connection’ they have with fantasies so benign.

When they hurl their petty woes, just laugh and let them see the light,

For organized stalking's just their way of yearning, sad and contrite.

πŸ“Œ Further Reading

πŸ“Œ Read in Korean

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