Impaled Nazarene

Place the hands on it's throat
Feel the fragile windpipe
Slowly tighten your grip
Watch closely it's eyes
When they are rolling over
Then release your grip
I have sworn to make your life a living hell
Torture known no boundaries
Now it is gasping for air
Great moment to throw it at a wall
Shrieks of pain at an empty hallway
Death has never come so slow