I hope every ligament is torn from his body. I hope his bones are smashed to bits. I hope his tongue is ripped out for every lie he spoke. I hope the guilt will burn holes into his skin. I hope the termites devour every inch of his soul. If I don’t get him, I hope the world does. I hope the world eats him alive. I never would have thought that the person who sat next to me during vagina monologues was going to be the same person who took advantage of me months later.
He is my National Anthem. He is my Rushmore. He is my everything.