It’s 3 AM and the unit’s humming,
He’s pacing like a storm that’s finally coming.
Talking to voices that won’t let him breathe,
Shadowboxing with demons only he can see.
He’s not safe to himself, not safe to the floor,
Not safe to the staff he’s swinging toward.
Everyone else sees a threat —
I see a man drowning in a mind he can’t forget.
And I’m the night‑shift nurse who doesn’t blink,
Even when he’s escalating faster than I can think.
Insight gone, judgment gone, reality wearing thin —
I know where this is heading, I’ve seen it all again.
He’ll get the IM, he’ll hit seclusion,
Another night, another delusion.
He’ll be back again, again, again —
And I’ll still be standing when the sun comes in.
He’s distressed by hallucinations clawing at his mind,
Responding to voices that aren’t being kind.
Side effects shaking his hands like a warning sign,
But the danger’s in the paranoia tightening his spine.
He’s yelling at ghosts, but the fists land real,
And I’m calculating safety with every shift I feel.
He’s losing himself, losing control, losing ground —
And I’m the one who has to keep everyone around.
Code Strong in the hallway, team moving fast,
We’ve done this before — and we’ll do it again, that’s fact.
IM drawn up, seclusion room ready,
My voice calm, my hands steady.
He’s terrified of a world only he can see,
And I’m trying to keep him alive through the brutality.
Night shift doesn’t flinch, doesn’t fold, doesn’t run —
We hold the line until the morning comes.
He’ll lose insight, lose judgment, lose himself again —
But I won’t lose sight of the human within.
Even if he returns again… again and again.
I’ll be here, holding hope like a light in my hand.
