true crime

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Cabinets full of cardboard files

Spilling out with crimes, unspeakable,

Things you couldn’t start to dream.

It feels a little like an alcoholic drink

Those thumbnails lined up on the Netflix screen,

Selling stories of the evil souls

That drift throughout this world we like

To view through glasses with that rosy tint.

But peel away those blushing lenses and you see

The darkness that would make us shudder.

That addiction that we feel, I couldn’t say just why,

Perhaps it is our safety net, to teach us what

We need to see, to dodge those tortured me that kill

Without a reason we can see.

I don’t know about you, but I absolutely love true crime. I love books and documentaries and I find myself devouring the films and series that are on Netflix. I don’t really know why I have such a fascination with them but I suppose I do have a few theories.

Perhaps I’m a bit sick in the head myself. I like to think of myself as kind and that I wouldn’t hurt somebody but I guess we all push bed things down. I’m reading Jekyll and Hyde with my Year 10 students at the moment and the novel tackles this very issue. We all have something dark, hidden deep inside; our success in life just depends on how well we can hide it.

The other theory I have is that it’s a bit of a safety thing. I catastrophise anything and everything so in my head I’m always at risk of being murdered. It makes sense that I should enjoy watching these programmes so that I can have a head start over these murderers that are sure to target me any day now.

And then there is the fascination with the psychology behind it. I love trying to work out what has gone wrong in the brain of someone who does something really bad. I truly believe that we are all born good and something bad has to happen to cause these outbursts.

If I was brave enough I would most definitely go and work in a prison, but I’d spend most of the time hiding. I take my hat off to those people who are brave enough to keep the dangerous people safe and to also keep us safe on the outside.

Much Love

Rachel xx

the death row interview

They told me that he is a psychopath,

The blackness weighing heavy on his soul,

Not that he’s aware.

I smooth my scarlet business suit

Adjust a hair that’s flown away.

I wonder if he’ll notice things like that?

I wonder if he’ll zone in on my lips,

Painted red, thinking of a crime in life

That ripped a world apart?

They told me that he doesn’t care,

Even with the chains that clink

As he walks, never free to run again.

There is a chill that lingers in the air

As those chocolate eyes begin to bore

Through plate glass, the hissing of his voice

Through the telephone I clutch.

I fear that evil works it way

Down the line, into my brain,

Could he touch me? Could he break the glass?

Evil touches us despite those barriers

That save us from their solid hands,

But not from what can wrap its arms around

Our fragile bodies, ready to infect.