Best of times . . .

Therapy couldn’t break me, never learnt a word that would ensure safety, so I spoke softly, and I tip-toed off and the door to my room was like a big old coffin in the way that it creaked when I closed it shut, anxiety’s peaked when I opened up, as everything that I was thinking would be exposed, I still sleep fully clothed.

It was the best of times, it was the end of times.