Just a little poem about what runs through your mind when you intensely dislike everything about your ex.
May all of your olive oil be extra slutty.
May the ancient Siberian permafrost melt and release an ancient fungus that infects only your toenails.
As the gentrifyers tear down the vacated slums right outside your gated community, may all the cockroaches migrate to your million-dollar luxury townhouse and breed in your underwear drawer.
May your high-status automobile stall out in heavy traffic.
May a flock of ill pigeons invade your garage and roost on your precious Lexus.
As you attempt to wash it, may the acidic droppings drip off and ruin your six-hundred-dollar shoes.
May you be late to work on the day of your most important presentation.
On your latest website hook-up, let your date turn out to be a flatulate obesity with no conversation skills.
Finally, when your eyes close at the end of the day, may you see nothing but my happy face, no longer burdened with the miserable, nagging, control freak that is you.