Their voices soft, their steps so slow, 
Through flashing lights, they come to know 
The quiet grief beneath the skin, 
The war I’ve fought, the pain within.

They kneel beside the crimson line, 
With hands so steady, yet kind as mine. 
A pressure wrap, they bind the wound, 
As silence fills the sterile room.

But still, the cuffs—they click in place, 
Cold metal binds in this dark space. 
Not for crime, but for fear I’ll flee, 
They lock me down, yet carefully.

Their touch is firm, but hearts are kind, 
Protecting both the body and mind. 
They see my pain, they feel my fight, 
But hold me close through the endless night.

In chains, I’m safe, though freedom’s lost, 
A gentle care beneath the cost. 
For though they fear I’ll run away, 
They guard my life, they make me stay.