One word. One fucking word. Who says words aren't powerful, can't summon nightmarish memories? I deal in words - I buy them, sell them, lay them out, kill them with an ink swipe. So I know. I know, I know, I know.
I hear one word, and I break apart. I feel small and ugly, like I'm twelve years old again, like I'm twenty-four again and pinned down underneath an ex-boyfriend whose breath always smells like feces and whose eyes are always glassy and lecherous. He slurs this word in his sleep, opens his crusty lips, rolls out his rancid tongue and lets it slide out like it's half-couched in spit and dirty dreams. Over and over, he's not even aware he's doing it. I can't wash my face enough, brush my teeth enough. I'm smelling his mouth now, I smell it whenever I take a shit or walk past a pile of steaming trash.
One fucking word. Makes me want to scrape my skin and muscle clear off the bone. I never want to hear that word again. One word and I'm buried under a lech-load of slime and can't breathe.
