A few months after,
It was nine in the night.
Back from work,
I moved to the kitchen.
Preparing dinner for the three of us.
He washed and came to me,
Holding me from back.
Half restricting my easy movements,
Yet,I liked it,after a tiresome day.
I kept stirring the gravy,
And he kept kissing my neck..
I pronounced his name,
Asking him to move off..
He didn’t and I didn’t want him to
I took the lighter,to light the gas stove.
I lit it,
Then,his hold on me loosened,
He took the lighter,and started,
Setting fire to things around..
With fire all round,my vocal chords burst open.,
And there he was still setting fire to other things.
His sister rushed out from her room,
She yelled out_______
I still have those burn marks on my arm.
Pyromania-I had diagonised,
But there was more to it,
My co-Doctors had deduced from several tests.
He suffered from fits,uncontrolled nerve impulses,
And hard it was to control him.
Unpredictable as he became..
I did all I could,
And yet things fell short.
Compassion and love isn’t a fast healer,
I knew that.as a doctor.