Washing my hands of you

I want to rip you apart
I want to shred you to pieces
I want to tear you limb from limb
I want to thrust out my arm and pry your mangled heart out of your chest.
I want to feel it's faint pathetic beats pulse against my finger tips as I pulverize it with a closed fist.
 Your face is slack and your eyes lack, but you watch the sluggish  flow of your ticker trickle down my arm to the trash strewn gutter.
I'll  watch as you crumple and cease to exist.
I'll listen to your last gasping wish.
 You mutter and stutter words of  desperate nonsense  as you thrash from distress.
 There won't be much of difference, you were heartless to begin with.  
I look down at you now, a hollow lump of bones and waiting decay.
 I lick the vital gore from hands washing them clean of you no more. You arise , your essence cleaved from your corpse, now nothing more than a sheer of unworldly torment and regret.
 For now on you may haunt my every move but it was worth the plague of endless taunt and harrow. But never sorrow.