Dead Inside.

It lies and deceives
It comes and it leaves
This voice that dwells
In my head

I try to forget and
I try to block out
All it’s insults and
Everything said

I cannot ignore
As it brings to the fore
All urges I’ve tried to
Resist

But I know it’s there
It relents without care
It’s whispers continue
To persist

It’s there as I sleep
It’s there as I Wake
It’s there but I choose
Not to hear

But this thing knows who
I am
I’m part of its plan…
it exists by feeding from fear

it still picks and it tears
With no worries or cares
I’m it’s prisoner with no
Place to hide

No one can see what
this thing does to me
I’m alone and I’m cold..
Dead inside

Copyright (C) Howard Carlyle 2017. All rights reserved

Advertisements

OBLIVIOUS

This the start of a story that I’ve nearly finished. It’s about a 9 year old boy who was abused, not sexually, which brings about his twisted alter ego, Tommy…

 

Scott Harpers parents never loved him, they said they did but locking a six year old kid in his bedroom while they went out and got drunk wasn’t really love. He’d sit and draw pictures of a boy, well, it was more of a stick figure, and use a black crayon to draw a cloud above his head. He had one particular friend that would stay with him… He always did and he never left him, no one else could see him, he was Scotts friend, and no one elses.

Scotts parents would come back drunk from where ever they had been and fall through his bedroom door. He could smell the stench of booze on their breaths. His dad would say that Scott was a good boy for being brave by staying in on his own, while his mum was the opposite and be nasty towards him. He remembered her once saying that he was ‘ just a little shit who should be able to take care of himself’ and then she would tear up his pictures and throw them at him. He still loved her because she was his Mum but he hated her at the same time. 
They would turn out his bedroom light, close the door and lock it leaving Scott in the dark, then they would put some music on, drink more alcohol. Sometimes his Mum would scream like a banshee while they fucked in their bedroom that was opposite to his. He used to drown out the sound by wrapping a pillow around his head and he’d hide under the dirty blankets that were piled up on his bed and fall asleep while dreaming of being somewhere else.

This went on for years and Scott knew more than any child of his age should, but, people either turned a blind eye to the neglect that was going on at home or at least no one ever questioned it.


Three Years Later. 

At school he felt even more alone, all the other kids used to pick on him because he wore hand me downs from the charity shops. He never had the branded foot wear or designer labels on his clothes like the rest of the other children, he was like a walking advert for the under privileged. Most of the other kids used to pick on him and beat him up on a daily basis but there was one child who tried making friends with him, Wendy Phelps was her name, Scott would sometimes say hello to Wendy but the conversation never blossomed into much more than that. Wendy felt sorry for Scott and knew that he used to hide in one of the cupboards, that was situated under one of the school stairways, and cry. The cupboard was his little place of sanctuary away from the little shits that made his life a living Hell. Scott was becoming even more withdrawn, he never spoke to anyone at school, in fact he spoke more to his imaginary friend than he did to real people… At least ‘he’ didn’t mock him.
The day came when Scott, who was Nine years old at this point, finally snapped after one of the bullies had spat in his face and then pushed him to the ground. He could hear the voice of his imaginary friend telling me to hurt him.

Make him pay, don’t let him get away with it… Hurt him, hurt him really bad!” The voice repeated this over and over until Scott did exactly as the voice in his head had instructed him to do.


While the boy was stood over Scott, he kicked him straight in the balls and the bully fell to the ground. While he was laid on the floor Scott sat on the boys chest and grabbed his hair with both hands and started to pound his head into the ground, the other children were screaming and shouting at him to stop but he could still hear the voice telling him to keep going, eventually a teacher pulled Scott off of him and the bully laid there, unconscious, in a pool of his own blood. He was badly hurt but Scott felt nothing, no sympathy, no remorse… It actually made him feel good. It was at that point that he got his first ‘taste’ of blood. Scott was marched to the head teachers office and told to explain himself about the incident.

“Scott, you do realise that what you have just done is very serious, what do you have to say for yourself?” Asked the teacher, Miss Henkshall, not quite knowing what to do with him.

“The boy spat at me and pushed me over, so ‘he’ said that the boy had to pay for what he had done to me,” Came Scotts reply.

“Who said he had to pay, Scott, who told you to hurt him, was it one of the other boys?” The teacher, asked looking rather puzzled.

“It was my friend, Tommy, he told me to hurt him. He said that he had to pay and that he shouldn’t push me around like that… I like him, we talk a lot at night when my parents go out. He tells me not to be afraid of the dark when the lights are turned out.” replied Scott.

“Scott, Who’s Tommy, I’d like to speak to him, he shouldn’t be telling you to do things like this.” The teacher had never even heard of Scotts ‘friend’ Tommy.

“Tommy doesn’t want to talk to you, he says that you’re going to get me in trouble and that you’ll stop me being friends with him!” Snapped Scott. It was at that point the teacher knew that something wasnt quite right with him. There was no student in the school named Tommy.

“Its ok Scott, I’m not going to get you in trouble or stop you from being friends with Tommy, I promise, could you show me who he is… Please.” Said the teacher. Scott stayed silent for a few seconds.

“Ok, but you have to be friendly to him or he gets angry.” He Said.

“I promise. I’ll be very friendly to him.” Replied the teacher, not knowing exactly what to expect.

Miss Henkshall sat in her chair half expecting someone to walk into her office, she just sat and smiled at Scott.

“Well, aren’t you going to talk to him, he’s standing right next to me!” Exclaimed Scott. The teacher didn’t know if he was being serious to start with or whether this was just his way of trying to get out of trouble but Scott sat in his chair and stared straight at the teacher, it was a stare that sent a shiver down her spine so she just played along with Scotts ‘little game’.

“Hello Tommy, I’m Miss Henkshall, its very nice to meet you. You know what you told Scott to do was wrong, dont you?” She said, feeling rather awkward knowing that there was no one there.

Scott leant forward and turned his head to one side as though someone was whispering into his ear.

“Tommy said that the boy deserved it and that I’d done good… He said that he deserved to suffer.” Said Scott, believing everything that ‘Tommy’ had said to him.

“Tommy, the boy could have been seriously injured, you shouldn’t tell Scott to do things like that… It’s very wrong, you do know that don’t you?” Said Miss Henkshall, more directing it towards to Scott rather than towards the figment of Scott imagination. Scott leant forward once again as though someone was whispering to him.

“He said yes, he knows it was wrong but that bastard deserved it and he should have been aborted before being born… Tommy really doesn’t like that boy.” Scott replied.

Miss Henkshall sat there in stunned silence at what she had just heard, she was now convinced that Scott had some real mental issues.

Miss Henkshall rang Scotts parents to explain what had happened.


“Hi, is this Mrs Harper.” Asked Miss Henkshall.

“Well, yes obviously, you’ve just dialed my number, who else did you expect to answer the phone!” Snarled Scotts mum. She was a real charmer with a venomous tougne and a shitty attitude to go with it.

“This is Miss Henkshall, Scotts head teacher. I’m afraid there’s been a very serious incident at school involving Scott and another boy.” Miss Henkshall said, fighting the urge not to tell her there and then to go and ‘fuck right off!!’.

“What’s the little shit stain done now… That boy isn’t worth the effort!” She said with real hate in her voice.

“Could you come to the school straight away please as I’d like to discuss Scotts strange behaviour with you, I’m very concerned with some of the things he’s been saying.” she said through gritted teeth.

“If I must.” She replied and with that she slammed down the phone.

“Its ok Tommy, mum will be here soon and she’ll take me home then we can go and play in my room.” Said Scott.


Miss Henkshall had heard what Scott had said to ‘Tommy’ and decided to ask Scott a little about his life at home.

“Scott, could I ask you a question, on your own without Tommy?” She asked, while winking at him.

“Sure, Tommy has gone now, he’ll be back later when Mum and Dad go out.” He replied.

“Scott, can I ask who Tommy is?” She asked.

“He’s my best friend, he takes care of me when Mum and Dad leave me in the house at night.” Came Scotts reply.

“Do they leave you alone very often or does someone come and look after you when they go out?” She enquired.

“When they go out they lock me in my room so I’m safe should anything happen..Thats when Tommy comes and talks to me,” Replied Scott

“Can you see Tommy, what does he look like, what things does he say to you, Scott?” Asked Miss Henkshall

“I’ve never seen him but I know he’s there because he talks to me, sometimes he makes me laugh and sometimes he tells me to do things that are bad… But thats ok because we’re best friends and he never tells on me” He said.

“What bad things has he told you to do? You can tell me, you won’t get into any trouble, I promise” She said, trying to reassure Scott.

“You promise that I won’t get into any trouble, Tommy will be real mad if he finds out” Scott said.

“I promise… And Tommy doesn’t need to know, right.” Came her reply, not knowing what Scott was about to say.

“One time, Mum and Dad brought home a kitten for me to play with for when they went out but Tommy didn’t like it, he said that they were trying to stop us being friends and that wasn’t fair. He said that the kitten had to go.” Said Scott.

“What happened to the kitten, did you stop playing with it?” Miss Henkshall asked.

“Tommy said that we should get rid of it and that no one else should have it. One night, while Mum and Dad were out, he told me put the kitten in the mirowave and turn it on, on full power, the kitten made all sorts of funny noises. After being in there for a few minutes it stopped crying… It smelled funny as well. Tommy said that what I’d done was Ok and that we’d be friends forever. Mum and Dad came home and found the kitten in the microwave, that’s when they started locking me in my room, but Tommy always stayed with me like he said he would.” Scott replied.





The Button Was Pushed.

I looked at my watch…

It read 6.41
It was the day that we died
By the Atomic bomb

A mushroom cloud now
Filled the sky
And darkness fell as it
Blocked out the sun

People ran screaming
I just stopped and I stared
We now lived in a world
Where we no longer cared

Buildings fell like autumn
Leaves
It was the end of the world
As war was declared

The world now in ruins where
Life once bloomed
Our fate had been seeled
Always destined to be doomed

A war of words and the button
had been pressed
Now the threat of apocalypse
No longer loomed.

Copyright (C) Howard Carlyle 2017. All rights reserved.

Untitled.

She laid there, the mattress stained and wet from her decomposing body, still looking like the angel that had come into my life and gave me a purpose to go on. The aroma was hypnotic, it was as inviting as the sweetest smelling flower was to a tiny hummingbird.

I kissed her and I pledge my heart to her for all eternity. I didn’t care that the room was swarming with flies, flies that were feeding from the woman that I loved.
I stroked her face and thanked god for blessing me with such a gift… A gift of beauty that only I could possess, and, always would possess.
I kissed her on the lips. The smell, that decomposing stench of a body that had passed, didn’t bother me because I was in love with her and who she was, not what she looked like or what she presented herself to be. I had watched her all my life and now she was finally mine.

Copyright (C) Howard Carlyle 2017. All Rights reserved.

The Feast of a Beast.

he put down his 

knife
and he stood and
he looked

he took in a deep
breath
as the body parts
cooked

he seemed rather
content
with what he’d
achieved

his plan now
complete
he felt rather
pleased

he had no respect
for religion
or for a man of
the cloth

a holy mans body
parts boiled
to make Him a
broth

the holy mans
cross
had been nailed
to a wall

he sought no
forgivness
he never succumbed
to God’s call

just like the last
supper
he settled down
for a feast

only the guest was
now dead
and the host was
a beast

he ate the holy mans
flesh
like he’d never been
fed

devouring the meat
of the living
didn’t taste as sweet
as the dead

he sat and he
ate while his
empty stomach
began to swell

knowing this would be
his last meal
before burning in
Hell

Copyright (C) Howard Carlyle 2017. All Rights Reserved

The Presence of IT.

The Presence of IT

It all started when I was younger. I could sense that something was watching me. When I tried to sleep, either from outside of my bedroom window or from the inside of my wardrobe it would come. I could hear it breathing and sometimes it would even giggle quietly to itself knowing that I would be terrified of something that I could not see. Most nights I would find myself in a fight with my eyelids for fear of what might happen if they were to close but each night, regardless of my struggles, finally they would and that’s when the tapping would begin.
It would always start off very faint, nearly unnoticeable. I would try to dismiss it as nothing more than just a figment of my vivid imagination but the more I tried to dismiss it the louder it would become until it would grow to deafening proportions. It’s as if it was trying to provoke some sort of reaction from me, yet each time I did react in some way it would seem to depart leaving me there in that empty room. Each time it drew from me what it seemed to want it would run off like some scared cat leaving me there in that utter darkness but it would always return to torment me again. It seemed that thing never left for very long and each time it would return it seemed its grudge against me had grown.
As time went by things got worse and worse. It picked at me more and more with each passing minute. With its noises and its departures it bullied me like some schoolyard brute that seemed to find extreme amusement in picking on those weaker than themselves and all the while it went on, weaker is just what I was becoming. I wanted to run form it, I needed to hide from it but it seemed the more I tried to evade and escape the more it followed. It was though it had my scent and was bound and determined to drive me stark raving mad.
Even in the daylight it would make its presence known to me. It would stroke at my hair or present itself as a cold chill upon my skin sometimes even a long, heavy breath in my ear. As scared as I was  and as weary as I had become of it, often I would still try to ignore that unseen thing that seemed to have attached itself to me. Why had this thing chosen me as its object of torment? Why had it chosen me as something, or someone, to taunt in its sick and twisted little game? It seemed to get some great pleasure from pestering me far beyond my tolerance.
There was not enough speed in my feet, not enough strength in my legs or my mind. There was nowhere I could run from it and not a single place I could hide. It seemed to always be one step ahead of me. It seemed to always be right there beside me as if clung to me like some sort of vile and malignant growth. It hounded me constantly and badgered me always as if hell bent on my demise. I grew to hate it almost as much as it seemed to hate me but then again maybe it didn’t hate me. Maybe somewhere deep down inside whatever it was it held some sort of sick love for me or at least for my destruction.
My friends couldn’t see it nor could my beloved family. Hell, I couldn’t even see it. They all knew nothing of it but I did. I knew it was there. I had no idea at all what it was or even what it might possibly want other than to utterly break me but I knew with all I was it was always close by. I knew it walked along with me as I went about the doings of my everyday life just like I knew it was there while I slept, although sleep was becoming all the more difficult to find.
The longer things went on the more its escapades escalated till it got so bad I would walk the streets speaking to something no one could see. I begged and pleaded with my imaginary foe and all the while the masses stared at me in wonderment. I begged for it to stop. I pleaded with it to go but always it stayed and carried on its same shenanigans. The crowds wondered who I spoke to while I wondered if it would ever cease the maddening nonsense that it seemed to enjoy so very much. Not a soul heard the awful things it did to me but I did. I heard them as plain as day and they bothered me so. In my ears those noises rang out crystal clear and they ate at my innards like the screeching of nails upon a classroom chalkboard. No one knew of the terrible things it did to me. They didn’t know it touched me time and time again for no other apparent reason other than to raise my dander but I did. I knew all too well of the tortures I was enduring. As much as I wanted it to go, as much as I needed it to leave that thing, that horrible, horrible thing stayed while instead the sanity that I did wish to hold onto was ever so quickly departing.
It played with me always like a kid would with his favorite toy but the more frequent its visits became the crueler its pranks would become. It would trip me as I walked. It would whisper while I talked. It slapped at me while I sat not bothering a soul. It screamed at me every time I sought silence. Always it would cackle to itself as though utterly amused with itself but its tricks were no treat, at least not to me. I tried to ignore it but it made that impossible. I tried to evade it but I found nowhere I might hide from it. It was everywhere I might be long before I might get there myself.
It was a constant distraction until my only thoughts were those of how to flee from it and what my life might be without it.
My school work suffered just as I myself suffered and normal everyday tasks became undoable feats. I had become its puppet and it yanked at my strings always till I danced like a fool. My parents thought me mad and my teachers thought even worse. It would tickle and I would cuff it away but they never saw its actions, only my reactions. It would speak to me and I would answer back but no one heard what it was saying. They would only catch my reply.
They whispered behind my back about what to do with me while it whispered in my ear of how they all wished to send me away and then always it would giggle. I watched as each one spoke trying to read their lips so I might know what lay in store for me and as I did the paranoia grew within me. I would walk in a room and catch my parents in the middle of a conversation all to watch them cease what they had been doing. They’d just pretend they were never speaking at all but I knew they spoke of me just like I knew they wanted me gone.
I thought several times about ending it all so I might find just an ounce of peace. My mind ran over and over the ideas of what I might do so I might finally be free of all that which tormented me so. Often I thought about closing my eyes tight and stepping off the curb into oncoming traffic or maybe diving head first off the highest structure I could find but each and every time it talked me out of it. Once I even had the noose I would hang from ready and waiting but it talked me out of that too almost like it was the best friend I had ever had but I knew better. I knew deep inside that it was to blame for it all just like I knew with all I was that I couldn’t give it its own way.
Finally I could stand it no more and I reached out to those around me. I couldn’t let them think me mad. I couldn’t let them think it was all me. I finally told them all of the dreadful things that were taking place and of the hideous thing that was bringing them to be. I couldn’t let them go on thinking I’d just lost my grasp on my own sanity or on reality itself so I poured my heart out and spilled it all. I told them all of how I was pestered beyond all belief by something not even I could see. I had to clear the air and try to clear my name but the effort was in vain and the more I spoke the madder they thought I had become.They assured me it couldn’t possibly be so. They assured me that it couldn’t really exist nor could the things I’d described to them ever really happen. They all swore it was all in my head and they all swore they could show me just how to bring it to an end. They all swore they could help me but much to my dismay they have done anything but that.
Instead they talked me into this. Instead all those I loved and all those I thought I could trust placed me here, here in this place constructed to house the mentally deranged and the utterly disturbed.
There are people all around me here but I have never felt so alone in my entire life. This place where I now reside is like nothing I could have ever even imagined existed yet it does and I am here within it. It is my own personal hell. They all claim that here I am with others like myself but these ‘people’ are nothing like me. They know not what I deal with. They have no clue what I’ve been through, what I am still going through. I myself am merely bothered while these ‘people’ they have caged me with are downright nuts and that’s putting it mildly. Troubled I may be but the others here are truly insane to say the least. Some of them scream at the top of their lungs, others just sit alone whispering to themselves in languages only they can understand. Some sit silently, their hands fidgeting endlessly while others bang their heads off the grate covered windows or the nearest wall. They all looked dead behind the eyes—empty shells if you will—just waiting for death to take them, something that would seem almost an escape from this house of madness.
Most days I question whether the so-called doctors in this place are any better than my cage mates.  They claim they are here to help me but they torture me as much as the crazies within these walls. They take turns poking and prodding at my already aching mind, tormenting me as much or even more than it ever could. They’ve medicated me to the point I can no longer differentiate up from down in an attempt to banish the thing they claim never existed, yet it still picks at me when they are not. They subject me to tests that I do not understand and stick me with needles time and again while it laughs and laughs. They claim over and over that it is not now nor ever was real while it continues to show me just how real it really is. When I am not being tormented by them I spend my time locked away in some rubber room or strapped down to some god awful table being tortured by it.
Had I known that it would come to this I would have suffered this thing alone. Gladly I would have suffered with the misery it caused rather than the misery and emptiness of this godforsaken place. It’s almost like the thing inside me has manifested itself into something more, into something real. It has gotten to the point where I have to decide whether I should let it taunt me and accept that this is what was meant to be or just ignore it in the hopes that it will eventually get bored and leave me be. Now I have to ask, how will I be able to cope without this thing that has been with me for so long?
For here in this place there is nothing for me. It seems what I hadn’t lost before I came has been stripped from me. This place has taken from me all that I was, all that I knew, and all I might have one day been. I have no friends here; no family comes to visit me. Here there is nothing, nothing but the cold of these walls and the suffering lent by those held within them. Here I have been robbed of it all, of everything except for it.
It, that thing that has been with me since I was but a child, It, that thing I despised, that I loathed. It has been here by my side for so very long till I can barely imagine a life without it near. Has it become a situation of it not being able to survive without me or of me not being able to survive without it? Am I a part of it or is it a part of me? I’ve grown used to its taunts now almost to the point I’d be disappointed if it no longer tormented me. How would I spend my days, how would I pass the time without it pestering me so? It seems for better or worse we are bound to each other to the point I find some comfort in this love-hate relationship we have. What would happen if it were to suddenly abandon me? I wonder now, here in this place, what would become of me if it were to no longer be?

Copyright © Howard Carlyle 2016. All rights reserved.

Copyright  © Lemmy Rushmore 2016. All rights reserved 

The Closing of The Lid.

​I’d finally plucked up the courage to ask her to dinner. At last, I would be wining and dining with the woman that I’d dreamt about being with for so long. Everything would be perfect. I had invited her round to my house, we would start off with a nice bottle red wine and eat a meal that I’d lovingly prepared and then the night would be finished off with a kiss on the lips and the closing of the lid..everything would be perfect.
7.30pm and the door bell rang, Annabelle stood at the door looking beautiful in her red dress. I invited her in and poured her a drink, it was only a small glass just in case she didn’t like my choice of wine..thankfully it was to her liking. We chatted for while about work and things like that, you know..just small talk.

8.30pm and dinner was ready to be served, I told her that I had prepared a dish containing pork, she ate it all..I never mentioned that it was in fact the neighbours dog.

9.30pm and we had started on the second bottle of wine, only this time she had one little added extra to hers..the host has to do his best to put his guest at ease.

10.15pm and Annabelle looked a little worse for wear, that added extra was worth the wait, she slumped in the chair barely conscious..my my, I think that wine has gone straight to her head.

10.40pm and she looked so peaceful sleeping in the chair. I took off my best suit and changed in to the clothes that I had been wearing earlier when I had been lining my grandfathers old wooden chest with with some plastic sheeting. I gently stroked Annabelles face then I finally had my first kiss with her..I had waited so long to kiss her and it felt wonderful. I walked into the kitchen and fetched the hammer and chisel that I had placed there earlier and went back to where Annabelle was sleeping. I laid her out on the floor, parted her hair on the back of her head and hammered the chisel into the back of her head, how could I do it anywhere else, that would just spoil her beauty…not once did she protest, she’s very thoughtful like that, that’s what attracted me to her.

11.15pm and we had made love for the first time and it felt so special..she was my first and she will be my only. Our bond of love can now never be broken. I picked up her body and walked over to my grandfathers old chest and placed Annabelle into it, this was now where she would always stay. I was the happiest man alive and I finally had the woman of my dreams that no one could ever take away from me, I said goodnight to her, kissed her on the forehead and closed the lid.

Until next time my love… Sleep tight.

Copyright (C) Howard Carlyle 2017. All rights reserved

I am.

​I am your conscience, your guilt, your doubt, your weakness, your stubbornness, your confidence..I am the one who walks with you when your shadow is cast, I am there with you when you sleep, when you wake, when your decisions are made and your dispersions are cast..I am everything you never want and all that you need.
Copyright  (c) Howard Carlyle 2016. All rights reserved.

Free of Myself.

I don’t belong here..I need to let go of all that has held me back, to be where I’d feel more at comfort and where people should be free of me and my demons. 
I hide behind a happy contented facade while inside I’m screaming to set myself free. This life now holds no meaning, no reward and has none of the love, that I had in abundance, that once surrounded me from one day to the next. 
Like the flickering flame of a candle, the attention from each person that I admired and respected, died out. I now feel all alone and in the dark, not knowing which way to turn.

I would feel more at peace in a place where no one noticed me, where the way i felt mattered not and the darkness that I felt shrouded me would help me fade into obscurity and become nothing more than a shadow in the dark.
Copyright  (C) Howard Carlyle 2016. All rights reserved.

Your Twisted Need

You’re nothing but

Lowlife scum

You can’t hide from

You’ve done

 

I’ll find you first

That is my vow

You will regret

What you do now

 

A child alone, lost

and scared

Its parents frantic..

You never cared

 

Your basement dark

Hidden from view

Your intentions only

known by you

 

You kept them in a

makeshift cage

Seen as an object

Of hurt and rage

 

Like fuel on a fire

On their fear you feed

They fulfil your want

Your twisted need

 

Their cries ignored

Thrilled by their screams

Their lives now shattered

No more sweet dreams

 

You had your fun

That sadistic thrill

Their misery ended

That climactic kill

 

A life snuffed out

Free of remorse

No concern for

Suffering caused

 

You wash your hands

You feel no guilt

Free of conscience

For the blood you spilt

 

I’ll find you first

That is my vow

You will regret

What you do now.

 

Copyright (C) Howard Carlyle 2016. All rights reserved.