Dear Ex-Boyfriend,
Remember when I treated you terribly and you comforted yourself in the knowledge that it might just be pre-menstrual hormones acting up? It wasn’t. I just relished in making you miserable at least once a month.
With love,
Your (uncharacteristically sadistic) Ex-Girlfriend
He tears my chest open, rips out my heart and publishes it for all to read. Every word that drips from his fingers is a tear that drips from my eyes, a bead of sweat that forms on my brow, a glossy, lustful trickle that slickens my labia.
He sucks the air straight out of my lungs and breathes into his writing to blow me away. He holds my churning stomach intertwined with his every phrase. His sentences snake long through my body and form knots in my throat, choking me. The force of his telling hollows out my chest.
He structures each piece with the shivering quiver of my thighs. He sets the rhythm to the pulsing blood beat coursing through my veins. He writes electrified signals that shock my every nerve. His every paragraph is an incantation that moves me.
“How long has it been in place?”
“Three years.”
“So countless times a day for three years they’ve been pressing a button to unlock and pass through an entryway that’s always been unlocked?”
“Yep.”
“And not one of them ever noticed?”
“Nope.”
“Amazing. What about the liquids project?”
“That’s in two stages. They can pay for a large cup and the global branding has them utterly convinced that it is the same coffee they get from our partner corporation on every corner in the city. Most of them still opt for the free stuff, of course, even though it’s brewed from dirty dishwater and used grounds.”
“But their taste buds have not been manipulated. Surely they must notice that it tastes like shit?”
“They do and they complain often, but well, it’s free. The next implementation in the liquids project is free apple juice.”
“Ugh. Poor bastards.”
“Indeed.”