moral quandary in the form of run-on sentencing

Hey, is it wrong when…wait. Let me back up.

When your extremely psychotic boyfriend from years past finds your myspace page, messages you and you clickee da eedle linky to find that in a little over a decade he has transformed into a hideous physical mess the likes of which you are completely revolted –yet morbidly and astoundingly amused– by, is it wrong to message him back and say, “Haha, now you look as ugly as you taste; The insides somehow always manage to work their way out, I guess.” ?

Even in light of the fact that he wrote to you, “Still pissed at me? Probably huh? I’m sorry. Anyway, you are as beautiful as ever. The one that got away in my book.” ? Is it wrong to want to append it with, “No, what you meant to say is that you are sorry that the ligature marks on my neck were not permanent, that I stood up to you and said, ‘You’re only a victim* if you choose to be’, that I saw to it you lost everything you attempted to strip from me. And I am intimate enough with your modus operandi, you silly dipshit, to be aware that ‘The one that got away in my book’ was meant to be read as ‘The one that outsmarted me and came out on top, much to my chagrin and utterly childlike fury due to the fact that my absolute need to smash and crush the spirits of others –to twist their affections for me into some vile and sick circumstance that is degrading and inhuman– was thwarted where you were concerned.’”

I worked out my demons long ago where this relationship was concerned; for the longest he’s been a gigantic joke, a ridiculous caricature to me. I’m angry with him for putting himself back in my line of sight, sure. More than that, though, I’m furious at ME for ever having allowed myself to have been subjugated in such a fashion. So far silence has been my tack, because I don’t want to waste any of my glory on someone so undeserving. But I’m not one to be pushed, and the line, “Next motherfucker gonna get my metal” keeps reverberating through my clenched molars. Apparently psychotic ex-boyfriend forgot his losses –which were many and great– on the last go-round. This time I’m not even skittish or afraid like I was then. Can you imagine how much more effective steady hands and clarity of thought might make me?

I’ve got my lunchbox and I’m armed real well. Pow-pow-pow.

*what he so charmingly referred to his exes as