The night in December

I chose to dismember

The woman I'd wed.

I learnt she'd betrayed me,

Of course this dismayed me,

And made a charade of

The life that we'd led.

Consumed by my dudgeon

I wielded a bludgeon

And aimed for a smudge on

The back of her head.

She gave a weak murmer

And struck terra firma,

Blood drained from her perm and

I knew she was dead.

The corpse I dissected

As I had elected,

Her guts as expected

Were gooey and red.

And now I'm supposing

Her form's decomposing

Still where I disposed of

It under the bed.