Night shifts slow down in the small hours.
The Ward so dim I can barely see
As I watch you, watching me.
What thoughts, in conjuncture, trip and spark
As you gaze lightly through the dark.
One of us is lost, one disturbed
The other quietly observes the absurd
I wonder where the line is crossed
as I peer out, or in, through displaced eyes,
which of us is being supervised?
Cool darkening begins to creep in,
unpicking the threads that bind I to Me
As I slips from my sense of being
Me clings to its conjugate
The switch, now clicked, illuminates.
Silence hangs once more, the curtain drawn,
Flimsy fabric separates you from I
Shadows act out our fears on screen
A delicate dance of delusion and dream
That forms then splits to reconvene.
But one of us will leave at dawn
As time keeps on its’ tick, tick, tick,
waiting for the tock to clock out, or in,
as when it finds a fragile mind;
the night shifts.
“brief; Making much of Madness DVerse Poetics Challenge write in the 1st or 3rd person of your own experiences (real or imagined) or your witnessing mental health issues.
‘Insight; As a young single Mum I worked agency night shifts as a carer on a psychiatric ward, it was during nights like these I realised there is a fine line between those of us coping alone and those needing support.