Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned...

When William Congreve said, "Heaven hath no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned," he definitely knew what he was talking about... (Experience talking or was he just a genius, we shall never know.)

Malice clouds my mind
And I see your eyes full of fear.
No place where I wouldn't find
You hiding timid, my dear.
Your screams, agonizing and petrified,
Fill my ears;
Bringing to my face a smile
Some would rather call a sneer.

Like metal against metal should scrape,
A screech from your throat is torn.
In vain you look for escape,
But hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
Regretting your mistake
You plead to settle the score,
And offer all I could take
But not what I crave for.

You're bound and gagged,
Aghast in horror.
Your skin is scarred, marred,
And dripping crimson.

I lift my arm up high
Aiming for the final strike
That will in one blow
Bring an end to your life.
For I shall finally break through
Your ribs, that hide that which is mine;
That which you refused to let me hold,
That which rests now beating in my hands cold.