Guilt

by Neve Simmons aged 11

Voices. They encompass me,
Some are laughs of little girls,
Some are plaintive cries of a young boy,
Some are the laughs of people, the ones that kill.

The creepy smile of a little girl,
Following me around,
Is all I see at the moment,
All that is of sound,

Are her recalcitrant laughs,
Echoing through the empty hall,
They seem to be drawing closer,
As every step I take, I seem to be in thrall,

They say I am mad, that I’m creepy,
And that I don’t belong,
That my behaviour is different from other people’s,
That it bothers them all.

One day you may discover,
This parallel world that I live in,
To only find there is nothing,
Nothing. Nothing but sin.

I sleep with demons,
Who are in control,
That see and hear everything,
That drain out my soul.

They hear the voices,
That run around inside my head,
The voices that encompass me,
The voices I’ll hear until I’m dead.

I try to stay away from the voices,
But that means that I have to stay away from the light,
I try to not listen to them,
But that thought never lasts through the night.

The demons that I fear,
Make more and more progress every day,
That, now, I am blind,
At least in the real world, they say.

I can see a boy,
Crying on the staircase,
Of an abandoned lonely house,
Regret plastered on his face.

The chase is like a race,
The only trace left of him,
Is a long ribbon of lace,
That was his sister’s. His sister’s.
His sister, who wore it with grace.

The rope above him hung,
Like a vivid memory,
The last of his patience strung,
The weight of his body grew heavy.

The boy was hanging,
Hanging alone,
The nothingness was fear encompassing him,
The paranoid thoughts lacerated him to the bone.

The only thing he could have been,
Was nothing… Nothing alone,
The only thing he was to be, like his father,
A cold-blooded, heartless person, but that was long ago.

Then, there was his sister,
Who wore her ribbon with pride,
She looked cheerful and full of happiness,
But that wasn’t the case on the inside.

She felt almost nothing,
Almost numb,
The only thing that was there,
Was the feeling of her mum.

Still there, in her heart,
But she knew she was gone,
And it was her fault for them to forever be apart,
Even though she wasn’t her real mum.

She felt guilty,
Though it wasn’t her fault,
She couldn’t have helped,
If her mom was a dolt.

That is for why she was murdered,
Her husband being the murderer,
For the murder was an unsolved case,
Only the children knew.

But they didn’t come forward,
For they were scared,
They didn’t want to be judged,
They just did not care.

Now the daughter is in the cellar,
Staring at her long gone brother,
Thinking that she could’ve done better,
She should’ve done better.

The guilt is now a burden,
The only thing now is that feeling
For the only thing she can be
Is nothing… Nothing and alone.

The nothingness is fear encompassing her,
The paranoid thoughts lacerate to the bone.
Because the only thing she ever could be,
Was nothing… Nothing, alone.

For she was everything… Everything…
But she was nothing…

Her brother was only nine,
But that didn’t matter to him,
The only thing he would do was pine,
Pine for the most wonderful of things.

He was spoilt but grateful,
Never once forgetting manners,
But one day, he forgot,
And he soon was on the ladder,

The verge of punishment,
And the verge tipped,
Then, everything went silent,
The only thing you could hear was the water drop drip…

That day she yearns to forget,
That day she shall remember,
For it was the most sorrowful day,
The day… The day she lost her brother.

I look at you,
You glare at me.
I begin to recognise you,
To only realise, to only see,

That you’re not really there,
And that we’re from a different place,
You’re only in my imagination,
You’re only moving at my pace.

But you follow me around,
And you say,
“There is no mercy,
There is only hate.”

I title you, ‘My Friend.’,
But it is very clear to see,
That you’re just like the others,
You’re nothing like me.

I thought you cared for me,
But your sly, seductive expression told me otherwise,
You’re just like the others,
You only want to hurt me, make me cry on the inside.

But at least you’re in my story,
For my story would be different without you,
At least you know my story,
But I’m glad it’s only me and you,

That know our story,
Like I know the other’s that I share with,
It’s only me and you here,
But, now, it is just a constant fear.

They all emerge from behind the scenes,
Those scenes are in my head,
I find it hard to breathe,
When I know they are there.

It’s like my own horror show,
But it’s personal,
About my mum who died,
About things I know are irreversible.

I’m only running from the wicked thoughts inside my head,
The ones that treat me like an enemy,
And the ones that treat me like friends.

Most of them I can relate to,
Those are the ones that put me to bed,
But those are the same ones that make me uncomfortable,
The ones that hide, the ones that make me think about death.

But the problem is,
Only I can see them,
Only I can hear them,
Only I can feel them.

Feel the pain that they’ve been through,
Nothing compared to me,
Everything compared to you.

These are the things I hear,
These are the things I see,
I wish you were able to realise,
That it’s really hard for me,

To live with this constant fear,
And relief when I awake in the morning,
Still alive, at least,
But still mourning.

I hate the sounds and sights I see and hear,
For every day I live in constant fear,
Of those demons that overcome the happiness,
The joy and the happiness in my life, they all present me with sadness.

Death is the real beginning,
Life is only the introduction,
They ask me why I’m the way that I am,
I tell them I don’t know…
I don’t know.

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