COMPANY OF KILLERS
- 8 hours ago
- 1 min read
By Kerry Burton-Galley
Whenever I succumb to my depression,
or become paralysed by this dissociation,
I seek to find some sort of consolation
in the company of killers.
I can tell you it’s just morbid curiosity
or a keen interest in criminology
but truth be told, it’s their relatability,
especially those otherwise ‘good fellas.’
It cuts through my mental silence
to listen to accounts of perverted violence
being told with such mannerly indifference.
I don’t see them as monsters.
I recognise their bitter self-awareness,
their desires a response to powerlessness.
I understand their feelings of aloneness,
and always feeling like imposters.
I know how rejection births narcissism,
how betrayal leads to crippling cynicism,
and how early injustices can lead to sadism.
I see how mankind creates lonely loners.
Their faces are associated with evil
but what gets me is they’re just people
who’ve also been kind and gentle,
and I think they hold some of life’s answers.