1224890  Poems Read Home Login

 ramblings and things


Burns - [OCD}

I wash my hands every hour 

 They're  chapped and red and sore,

Strapped, creamed, and bandaged  
So I can't wash them any more.

Shocked and cut and bruised

But otherwise well,

Him torn in pieces by

That exploding shell.

I held him in my arms

And oh I really tried

To be his friend and comfort

As I held him until he died.

Battered cut and bruised

But I am still alive

How come he died and yet

I managed to survive.

I sit  here in despair,

And all I do is weep,

They pump me full of drugs,

Most of the time I'm asleep.

I feel his blood still on me

Nobody here understands

 It's burning like an acid 

So I need to wash my hands. 

©2000 - 2022, Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.

Visit My Home Page | Start Your Own Poetry Site | PoetryPoem

[ Control Panel ]  [ Today's Poetry - ALL Poets ]   [ Search ]