I warned him I was poison, That my womb spouted lava, That there was fire between my legs And it spared no visitor, Yet he laughed, the fool, And the proud, vain loon, Did not pause a moment before Barging in unwanted, Like he had, into ninety-nine other forbidden heavens, Eager to add a tale more of dominance, To the ninety-nine others He would proudly tell, Only to emerge- consumed, scorched, devoured by my fumes. Hadn't I told him I was hell?