Hell hath no fury like a woman scorn.
A wise man should know do woman no harm.
The fool that chooses to will certainly be ferried to his glory.
They shall call his folly the root of her fury.
Knife in back or belly she’s innately accustomed to removing blades;
not from strength does she; nor is she brave.
Women can survive and navigate fueled purely by inherent unquantifiable rage.
Not revered but feared burdened to carry and calm these weapons of blood.
Laying dormant and sleep, quailed with her kindness and love.
She feeds rage peace, barters and begged this barbarity till it stayed sleep.
It lay dormant and quiet only for a miserable fool to wake the blood thirsty beast.
No burden shall left or torment will be spared nor lesson unearned;
be ever so mindful of the bitch you burn.
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