Panic

Aching head and pounding heart,
Fear and dread and shaking,
I beg for you to depart,
You nightmare in the making,
Death is near, I feel it now,
No control of your torments intent,
Your strangle hold I would not allow,
Were it not for your depressive bent,
Breathe fleeting, breathe fleeting,
I run inside myself,
Your cowardly urge keeps repeating,
My soul feeds your wealth,
Depart from me you evil giant,
I plead that you let go,
But oh your hold so defiant,
Until at last in the grave I lay low!