Oh, there are some hurts that nobody reckons when a rush of rage, pain and revenge beckons about a wanton act of mayhem and spiteful action, In the silent nights it beckons, oh how it beckons belying my irenic ideals, beliefs and just conviction. Hesitant and much fretful I stood at the threshold of a cordoned off bloodstained room, dolefully cold, at this time a most dismal of moments and piteous to wrap my head around this grim spectacle I behold, My beloved and I lay bleeding—murders most vicious. To find the one who committed this dastardly act I vowed to exact vengeance, unravel one sole fact— Towards my wife’s unfaithfulness was my hostility It’s I who staged this scene of murder-suicide pact, my suspicion was not without merit of her infidelity.