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#dahmer
He hurt people He killed He'd drill holes in their heads and eat their insides They gave their souls to him They were scared of what he'd do next But he was just as terrified as they were A creation of anger and loneliness Raising the glass He says that the universe has no regrets
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Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 11:39 AM UTC
Dahmer
"If i was killed in prison, that would be a blessing right now." -Jeffery Dahmer november twenty eighth, he prayed to god, to mom, to sun and shade, gave thanks to all the boys he ate; november twenty eighth, he laid and thought till his last ***** breath: "well, this has been my life, i guess," as scarver beat him blissfully into his deliquescing death. he thought of all the things he did while down came scarver's metal bar (and not because he'd killed those kids, but 'cus his pranks had gone too far). the guards went home that night and slept while someone, somewhere, soundly wept.
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Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 8:50 AM UTC
the predator's prayer
**tell me WHO LOOSENED THESE SCREWS?!**
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May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 11:09 AM UTC
Since It Wasn't Me
Buddha belly, rabbit’s foot, how much luck can you get                                                     from touching the dead? (Maybe that’s the reason behind Jeffrey Dahmer’s slaughtering of                                                                                          seventeen men; maybe that’s the reason why we break wishbones— to remind ourselves that this bone is dead                                             these hands are alive                                             do something with them.) In some cultures, it is socially acceptable to                              eat your child’s placenta— there is good fortune in it, power in it. (I wonder if this is the reason why cannibals eat their victims.) Number seven.  Cross on the wall.          I wish you good luck.
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Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
Walking Under Ladders Past Apt #213
There is a man from my city that spent his nights killing and ******* men for the hell of it.  Sometimes I worry that his blood might be in the water like 160 year old cholera or 30 year old cryptosporidium.  Sometimes I worry that I breathed in the stardust from which he was made, that I swallowed the ashes from which he burned.  I do not think that I will ever be *American ****** enough to fit the bill, and this might be my one true happy thought: at least I am not a serial killer. I closed my eyes in August and saw the dried up teeth of my estranged grandmother floating in a pool of blood and thought about how the phone works both ways.  I opened my eyes in October and thought about spitting up the chicken bones I had been choking on since second grade, when my father helped prepare dinner for the last time.   (I think I might have                                     sacrificed a couple people to the devil                                                   without actually meaning to.) I find the numbers            13,               16,               and               18 to be unlucky and I am beginning to fear that the pattern will continue, that 19 will be the year I finally get bitten by poisonous snakes outside of my dreams.  God whispered in my ear and told me that a different Helter Skelter was coming.  He told me to keep breathing easy, to trust in his light, but when I asked my Magic 8 Ball if I should quake like the Earth in 1960, the day after Satan released Dahmer from Hell, all I got was a bright blue, “Better not tell you now.” The séance I conducted last year in a blackened, decaying cemetery did nothing but rattle ghosts, and the four-year-long pity party I held prior did nothing but chain those ghosts to the floorboards.  I have never been good at abandoning my thoughts and feelings.   Some mornings I wake up face down in the Green River or with my head severed and on display in a refrigerator of a house that is not mine.  Other times I awake buck-naked in Death Valley— sand coating my tongue, my tonsils, my esophagus; burning and scratching into my flesh—and I know that I will never be able to forgive my father for destroying everything he ever made or his mother for turning into everything that’s just      out of                     reach. There has never been a time when I have been good at letting go of grudges.  I am far too aware of my own existence. At least I am not a serial killer.
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Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
"The Milwaukee Cannibal’s Apartment Isn’t Twenty-Two Minutes From My House, It’s Actually Eight Minutes Away" or "1959-_____ Slaughterhouse"
There is a man from my city that spent his nights killing and ******* men for the hell of it.  Sometimes I worry that his blood might be in the water like 160 year old cholera or 30 year old cryptosporidium.  Sometimes I worry that I breathed in the stardust from which he was made, that I swallowed the ashes from which he burned.  I do not think that I will ever be *American ****** enough to fit the bill, and this might be my one true happy thought: at least I am not a serial killer. I closed my eyes in August and saw the dried up teeth of my estranged grandmother floating in a pool of blood and thought about how the phone works both ways.  I opened my eyes in October and thought about spitting up the chicken bones I had been choking on since second grade, when my father helped prepare dinner for the last time.   (I think I might have                                     sacrificed a couple people to the devil                                                   without actually meaning to.) I find the numbers            13,               16,               and               18 to be unlucky and I am beginning to fear that the pattern will continue, that 19 will be the year I finally get bitten by poisonous snakes outside of my dreams.  God whispered in my ear and told me that a different Helter Skelter was coming.  He told me to keep breathing easy, to trust in his light, but when I asked my Magic 8 Ball if I should quake like the Earth in 1960, the day after Satan released Dahmer from Hell, all I got was a bright blue, “Better not tell you now.” The séance I conducted last year in a blackened, decaying cemetery did nothing but rattle ghosts, and the four-year-long pity party I held prior did nothing but chain those ghosts to the floorboards.  I have never been good at abandoning my thoughts and feelings.   Some mornings I wake up face down in the Green River or with my head severed and on display in a refrigerator of a house that is not mine.  Other times I awake buck-naked in Death Valley— sand coating my tongue, my tonsils, my esophagus; burning and scratching into my flesh—and I know that I will never be able to forgive my father for destroying everything he ever made or his mother for turning into everything that’s just      out of                     reach. There has never been a time when I have been good at letting go of grudges.  I am far too aware of my own existence. At least I am not a serial killer.
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