I am in mourning
of a man
Who I met
in a dream
He knew just
what I was
And he was
just the same
We fell
in love quietly
Just watching
each other
Both of us
monsters
Dark souls
bonded together
He was patient
and still
With both me
and the corpses
I was awkward
at first
But he made me
feel whole
He was a killer
that's true
But I wanted
to be just like him
Murderers
in unity
teacher
and pupil
He told me
who he was
when I confided
in him
I was afraid
to be alone
He had resigned
to his fate
But when I whispered
in quiet shame
"I am
a monster"
He put his hand
on my shoulder
And whispered back
"so am I"
He told me
just then
of the people
he's killed
I listened
in awe
in some twisted
form of hope
The next time
we met
it was with a body
between us
Our scalpel-wielding
hands touching
gently over
the cold flesh
With quiet words
and peaceful enthusiasm
He taught me to ****
he taught me to love
It was then
I woke up
I woke up
far too soon
And I cried
in my pillow
mourning
a dream
I had quite possibly the strangest dream I've ever had last night (which is saying a lot). My family learned somewhat of the darkness inside of me, and I believe he was meant to be my therapist? I don't quite remember, I forgot many defining details by the time I woke up. After I told him everything, he gave me a box, with all of my **** secrets written down inside. It had a lock only I could open. He told me to go hide it somewhere safe, so no one else could ever use it to hurt me, and then come back to him. Confused, I did what he told, and came back. There, we sat on the floor and he told me his own secret: he was a serial killer. He told me I didn't have to be alone. He told me he would teach me. I don't know how old I was in the dream, but I was still quite young, and I think he was in his 30s, which is a bit strange to think about with a logical, fully awake brain, but nothing about the dream felt creepy in that way. He was such a kind murderer, patient and still. I was so awkward around him, and I didn't really know what I was doing, but he never made me feel small or inexperienced. I don't remember what was said during the lesson he gave me, with the body on the table. But I do remember how warm it made me feel, even in the cold room. We kept getting interrupted before we could start. I kept having to leave. It was infuriating! Each time I came back, the body was a bit more decomposed. It didn't seem to matter to him though. Finally, the lesson was able to begin. I knew we were in love right then. We never flirted, or kissed, there was never anything romantic at all. It was just how we felt when we looked at each other. He made me calm, and peaceful. I was so perfectly warm inside. But we had barely started when I woke up. I had kicked all my blankets off me at some point in the night. I tried desperately to re-enter the dream, but I failed. The last thing I remember thinking before falling back asleep was his name: Victor Brown. I know how disturbing this sounds, but I can't think of anything but how much it hurt to wake up and realize I'd never see him again. I think I'm going to write a book. I can't let go. No one reads these poems anyway, so there's no one to judge me I suppose. I just needed to remember