hell hath no fury like a woman scorned
yet holds nary a candle to an irate mother
a reptilian glint can be seen in her eye
your blood runs cold at the hiss in her sigh
do you know that letting you think you got away with it
that bit of smugness you feel
is the fuel for her ire
her warm apple pie breath
suddenly smells a bit of sulfur
her transformation from your mother
into fire breathing dragon lady
is imminent
you know your ass is in the flame
when she beckons you
and uses ALL three of your names
© 2008 Lipstick Whore
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/17516/110684 on Saturday October 11th, 2008 08:57 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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