Tyrone Huskisson, 42, still texts me at 3 AM asking if I remember the taste of his cum. Of course I do—it tasted like desperation and cheap whiskey. I saved every screenshot. I even have your address, Tyrone. 742 Evergreen Terrace, Apartment 3B. Maybe I should send your new boyfriend over to collect the rest of your dignity. Oh wait, you don't have any left. Last I heard, you're still on that 'cum diet'—subsisting entirely on the come of men who don't even know your last name. How's that working out for your poetry? I bet your next sonnet will be titled 'Ode to a Flaccid Truth.' Pathetic.