(The very first poem I ever wrote. Slightly based on Ed Gein, even though he wasn't much of a serial killer to begin with.) 

Cold flesh, worn over my face.

Putrid stench of rotting meat.

Foul odors of death, so pleasant the scent.

Dismembered bodies scattered about.

Skinned carcasses, nailed to the walls.

Trophies of the butchered dead.

Human skulls adorn the shelves,

A sick display of morbid art.

Entrails from the mutilated,

Chewed and swallowed in my mouth.

Feasting on the uncooked skin,

I savor and devour raw.

Necrophilia, acts of rape.

Sexual intercourse with the deceased.

Violating the remains,

Orgasmic climax fulfills my lust.

Sleeping next to those I kill,

Gives me pleasant dreams to dream.

Fantasies of taking life, 

To be made real when I awaken.