The Homicide of Depression

I'm becoming a serial killer
Methodically and systematically
Putting to death
The depression
That engulfs me every morning
It's a slow death
I provide
Pulling pounds of flesh
And setting them aside
Extracting the teeth of this demon
One by one
Even as it fights to sink them into me
It's all part of the fun
A strange catharsis
As I dissect every inch of this depression
My tools are sharp
But not made of steel
They're made of love
Of your smile in the morning
Your belief
That I can be so much more
Without the dead weight of this thing
Holding me down
So I'll commit slow homicide
Every single day
To rid myself of this decay
For felonies are nothing
Compared to seeing your face
Alight with pride in me
And when the night sets in,
Together we'll dump the remains
Not to hide a sin,
But to revel in triumph
As the dead weight sinks to the bottom
Of its watery grave
And I am no longer a slave...