I Don’t Mind

I don’t mind

if you stick cold fingers

into my bloodshot mind,

wiggle yourself

into my refrigerated heart

like a steak or a calf’s liver

displayed on a meat counter.

I don’t mind

if you pull me limb from limb,

tear my skin

with razor claws,

rip my soul to pieces

with your angelic innocence;

it’s the best kind of pain.

I don’t mind

if you chop me, stab me,

kill me,

leave my corpse in the gutter

on the side of a highway

where I can hear the escapes,

the hum of motors and wheels,

the swish of passing

throughout eternity.