I want to murder Depression

I want to strangle
his pale, sweaty neck,
to still the breath
on his thin, quivering lips.

I want to gouge at
his icy-grey eyes.
I want to break
his cruel, chilly fingers.

I want to yank out
his course, straggly hair.
I want to burn
his thick, callous flesh.

I want to rip away
his limp, whiny lungs.
I want to twist and tug
his weak, yellow spine.

I want to mutilate him,
leave behind a bloody pulp,
An arm here
A leg there
An eye
over there.

I want to pierce
his arrogant heart.
I want to tear it in half,
leave it in the dirt
where Depression belongs.