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Rated: E · Poetry · Community · #2272418
A trip to a burn unit in a metropolitan hospital.
Welcome to the 5th floor burn unit,
UCSD Medical Center.
This is the sign you pass,
As you enter.

They ask what happened,
How did you get burned?
They do this all with
Care and concern.

On a scale of 1 to 10,
Where is your level of pain?
I'm cussing, swearing,
I cry and complain.

They whisk me away to a place,
They call wound care.
Nothing here is familiar,
I'm not yet aware.

Wound care is a special place,
Full of pain and narcotics.
Stool softeners and I.V.'s with
Liquid antibiotics.

They scrub the burns with
Soap and water.
It's like leading the lamb
To the slaughter.

The cries and screams,
You can hear down the halls.
They bounce and echo,
Off these walls.

You end up in a realm of awe,
For the angels that work in this place.
The scrubbing of the burns,
You learn to embrace.

This is where you find out,
You have nerves of steel.
There is a method to the
Magic in this place, to heal.

Turbo1904 ♥

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