(48) Burning Memory

These events are true, this is me.

Going home from visiting a friend
I have walking this same path
Walked this way, countless times
Up a slight hill of a lonely street
To a desolate alley in summer darkness

But I need to take a call of nature
So I start to relieve myself
To piss against a unyielding wall
And I am blind to those behind me
Two youths of eighteen or nineteen

I feel the liquid pouring down my leg
Then in seconds it is a ball of flame
My left leg, burning in pain, agony
I turn and they are running and laughing
Leaving me alone and I feel the skin burn

I kick the right shoe off my foot
And intend to take off these burining Jeans
But the foot is a ball of orange flame
The liquid had not only travelling down the leg
It had gone into my shoe, burning from inside

I am shaking, in my shorts in night summer heat
I try kicking this fire out against the wall
The agony has taken my mind, insanity takes the pain
Unknowing, two toes snap as I continue to kick
But the fire burns on, with the smell of burning flesh

No one is there to help me, I only want to sleep
Concrete steps keep me from reaching safety
From this alley up to the waiting maisonettes
So I hold the rail, and force myself to climb up
And still the left leg burns and the pain returns in fury

I make it and there is someone in the kitchen
The first maisonette that stands on the corner
He sees me and he sees the flames that hurt me
He looks at me in horror, and then there is screaming
The screaming is coming from me, I can not stop

The man comes out with a bowl of water
He throws it over the burning foot and I pass out
I awake and there is a neighbour holding me
I see people all around me and I try to remember
The pain and memory come rushing back

Firemen are there now, hosing my leg with water
I hear a crackling and realise it is the leg
The screaming starts again, and it never stops
Coming deep inside of me, for this madness to end
And again darkness takes me as my mind shuts off

I am in an Ambulance, but I do not feel safe
They are out there and could still come for me
Why did they do this? What did I do?
I never even knew who they were
And the horror etches deep into my head

That was years ago, and I still carry the scars
The leg was saved, full thickness burn
Skin grafts rebuilt it, but it still breaks down
Two toes amputated, the big toe and one next
Yes it still haunts me now and it always will


copyright Chris Smith 2010

Reviews

[anne p. murray- LadeeAn..]

I feel so bad this happened to you! Or to anyone.
I'm sure it did bring back flashbacks, while living thru it again as you wrote this.
I can't even imagine the physical pain, let alone the emotional pain.
as well.
I hope they caught those punks who did this to you.
I will never understand the evil things people do; how in the bloody hell can human beings do these kinds of horrific things to another human?

[Maggie]

I am so sorry this happened to you...you tell the story honestly and truthfully, with a wound that still aches on the soul to this very day. Keep living and writing, for both you were meant for...

[Sunni Davis]

This brought tears to my eyes and made me want to wrap you in a hug. I'm so sorry you had to endure this pain. Scars sometimes fade but never go away. I admire your strength and courage.

[Robin]

the outrage i feel right now will never match your pain . we all have our ghosts , yours is a mother ...

[Ashley]

i cannot fathom the pain you have lived. the horror that still haunts you. but i applaud you in your almost phoenix like resurrection. born anew in writing. this is a work of art.

[Judy Ponceby]

God Bless you, Chris. For your strength and courage in sharing this part of yourself. It is a horrible evil thing to have survived. And yet you shine in the man you have become, in your writing. I am honored to know you. Peace be with you.

[LA Lorena]

What a horrible thing to have had to endure, and I am certain that those memories and the pain will always be with you. I applaud your courage for posting this Chris. What a cowardly act of depravity can do to an innocent life!

[Emily B]

this is why we write

[Chris Smith Welshpoetcs]

I was asked last year by a friend if I could relive the events of the poem Ode To A Burns Victim, write it as a poem without rhyme. This was a very hard poem to do, it brought back tears through flashbacks to a place I never wanted to visit again. This is why I write, theraputic healing with an overactive mind. The leg still breaks down and never heals since that night in 1997.

I nearly never shared this here, it was on the blog.

This is me, still in pain and still writing......thank you for being there to read what I do.

God bless

Chris Smith.