Victim’s Reassurance

Knowing how rotting fruit
is broken down by
earth where it falls
and even tin cans
dissolve eventually
and grass, cow, milk,
child, man, corpse,
flesh, worm, grass,
is one endlessly repeated cycle,
why should hands
around my throat bother me,
or the selfishness of breath.
I die so he will
find the strength
to eventually weaken his way
into the grave we all share.
I enter him through
the hard force of his touch,
replace the parts
that swarm into me,
the frozen heart, chilled brain,
that ensure my blood runs cold.