Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned

(Disclaimer: Not for the faint of heart or anyone I may have ever dated. And no judging. I have a vivid imagination.)

I want to punch you, slap you, scrape my nails across your beautiful face. I want to tear out your jugular with my bare teeth until you finally feel one iota of the pain you've caused my heart. Everyone wonders why girls are so "psycho." Because men make us that way, that's why.

A romance too short and too honey suckle sweet. I want to break your legs into a million little pieces after I've cut your toes off one by one. I want to cut your arteries open and drain out as much of your blood as the tears that you've made me cried. I want to stab you in the gut and sew your entrails into weird avant-garde artistic shapes before shoving them back into your body and sewing the skin up so that you have to suffer longer.

But what I really want above all else . . .

is for you to be mine again.

Not that you ever truly were.