by charlotte guest.
I need you so badly it's making me sick.
I've been biting my nails and pulling out my eyebrow hairs, and now I have stumpy fingers and my forehead is nearly bald.
You are the reason I will someday, sometime next week, be ugly.
I need you before tomorrow, before four o'clock western standard time. After that you will get worse by two percent per day; then a point will come when themanwiththeredpen will think I never knew you and frankly I'll wish I hadn't.
All that vibing (thishatredistiring; i'lleraseyouIswearit, I'llwipeyouout), all that prodding with the cartoon index finger and consulting with the Task Manager; surely you're about to burst open like a stripper-concealing cake.
I've been prowling around My Documents like a natural born predator. You flinch, I pounce. (You better flinch). I've written you a note, kidnapper-style:
You have until four o'clock tomorrow; do not call the police.
Give yourself to me or the folder gets it. *Slicing throat gesture*.
tick, tock.
related posts.
sometimes by clayton lin
ripe for the picking by colleen yo
