This Anger, this Hate, black and deep it runs, it runs. Pours out of my heart, as a dark scarlet rage. A rage that screams for vengence. Nothing but your blood will satisfy me. But what use is vengence and retribution if the hand that executes it is stained also? What joy is there in being incriminated at the height of one's triumph? Slowly, deviously I shall plot. Plot your disgrace and orchestrate your fall. Secretly the knife shall slide between your shoulderblades. Slide to, through your palpitating heart. Don't look so surprised, in the depths of your mind you must know you had it coming. So enjoy, as I sink your consequence and let you down like a punctured spare tire (for you have one too many). With my gauntleted hand I shall wipe that condescension from your smirking face, and bloody your visage like the bastard you are. Till you are condemned as the very scum of the earth, I shall not rest. In this epic endeavor, justice, pure and unadulterated shall be forced down your gagging throat without moderation. What say you, as the tables turn? Where the victim victimises his abuser and the prey slays its predator. For mercy you shall plead but never have, an edifice I shall build to canonize your inevitable death.

"i'm kidding to a certain extent."

Yeah right.