I want to scratch my nails across your chest, then reach in and claw your heart out, the same way you did mine.
I want you to feel as vulnerable as I was when you trapped me, as I still am every time your fist connects with my tender face.
I want to poison your food, piss in your mouth and spit on your grave, then dance my way home.
I want you to suffer, to cut your wicked tongue out. Make you as blind as I once was.
But you're bigger than me, and in the end, that's all that really counts, isn't it?
((Not nearly as polished as I'd like to pretend my work usually is, but it's been a very long day. This is 100 words by coincidence, only. (Or maybe out of habit?) It wasn't intended to be.))