Hippolyta Defeated (re-post)

How am I so bloodied from a battle
where no single blow was thrown between us?
Or have you fought me with your invisible weapons
of non engagement?
No word, no thought, no impassioned curse,
Nor anything to hang my retaliation upon.
I am vanquished through and through
by your silence,
so slump, brow fevered from passion turned inward,
soured into a poison that courses my veins,
till my face is skeined with marks of shame 
from your quiet slaughter.

Thus spurned, I am cheapened:
my blue blood spilt without mercy,
until I forget I am royal by birth and by destiny.
Plunder will you?
Mine and undermine any faith, hope or undying charity,
my only virtues.
Thus impoverished, I fall destitute:
the shirt on my back long ripped off for you
so I stand in naked shame,
soul shredded and jugular exposed
for indifferent men to look upon, and ignore.
Is it so easy to be cool, cruel, 
to teach me some unknown lesson,
to hammer in the nail of your indifference?

Faithless, blind fool!
This momentary upper hand 
is mere anomaly to your cowardice.
I challenge you to reject aloud; 
I dare you to boldly slam in my face.
Do you expect to survive the scorch of my fury
or any hoarfrost of my cold, calculated revenge?
For surely I shall blaze anew, 
recall that I am Themiscyran daughter 
of a thousand solitary siblings,
and reawaken to my noble heritage 
of untamed womanhood in No Man's Land.

Take heed careless, callous dote,
lest I unleash my Sisters Fury to dog your days,
or summon Medusa's glare upon your unseeing eyes.
Then shall I pluck from your ossified tongue
an admission you are ill-matched, poor-fitted,
an underwhelment to my steadfast love.
I shall excavate your stony, rotten apple core
and expose you as really mouse, and no man,
no match even for my broken, Amazonian heart.
You shall beg to bury your head 
in the quicksand of your ruthlessness,
till you sink beneath the horizon of your own narrow vision.

Then think me no more?
No! I assure you that I shall remain 
to watch you, piteous wretch, until you are
a consumptive, critical mass,
a frozen, frigid mess,
monument to misery marbled in pain.

For I shall prevail,
the very essence of a warrior maid,
invader once and forever conqueror of your feeble, intemperate parts.