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.

Lady desolate...

I am one of those women who find it extremely difficult, taxing in fact, to bond with other women. It is not as often a talk about one's dream stripper over pints of beer as we plunge into details (so dirty that my sober mind wishes it could disown me) as often as I would like. Statistically, I would have, I suppose, one female friend for ever six male friends or something like that. My math is bad. It is not that I find it difficult to make an acquaintance of womankind, but that I find it impossible to find the kind I would like to befriend. For I would like to be around her who can converse about sonnets, stories, songs, sex, sports, shoes, sheep and sweets as passionately as she bitches.

Such women, in my experience, are rare jewels. But every once in a while Fate decides to be kind to me, for no girl can live fully without that crazy little girl friend. And though this poem was written for someone who once seemed to be another of my kind, today I post it for all those women who I love now and shall in the glorious days to come. These women have made me stronger than I ever thought I could be and I know shall hold me up when my treacherous spine gives in because it thinks my shoulders can bear no more weight. I thank you for the crazy memories we have made or will tomorrow, and of course, the smiles and tears over pastries and ice creams will never be forgotten (because PMS is kind of a monthly plan).

Rolling down your sombre face,

At a steady pace,

Are frigid tear drops

Invading my heart.

Your eyes appear unclear.

They are puffy and swollen.

Once rosy, now glistening from tears

Are your cheeks, a fabric in time woven

And worn down by the pain

Now piercing through my heart.

Allow me to be selfish and say

That I wish to wipe those lousy pearls away...

And let me tend

To your bleeding heart.