Psycho Sexual Killers Poem by James McLain

I grew up in North East, Southern Florida.
Even as the child were we?
We started wildly out, the other coming in.
Peeking through the windows, holding hands.
Finding each one by the scent they left behind.
Then we peek inside.
She likes those yellow milk stained boxers.
I smell the tinkle musky from their worn out panties.
What she does with other bodies no one knows.
I keep certain parts beneeth my pillow.
I am still a human being.
Mosly little sleeping ones that make no noise.