Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm
Hell Hath No Fury
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Or so the saying goes, yet he pays no heed.
Instead he looks at me with eyes of greed, as his hands reach out to touch what is not his, lewd words pass his lips, not a thought given to the embers they disturb.
I fume silently, as I plot my revenge. A dagger in the dark, arsenic in his tea, a noose around his neck, all sound good to me. I imagine his eyes bulging in fear, his hands flailing in despair, choking on those lewd words.
kept my rage simmering low
till you walked my way