And there were days
Days when my chest screamed
My blood wept
And I choked on my own pain.
Days like empty glasses
Cold, cutting, cavernous.
And there were days
Days I felt so small
I could have slipped through pavement cracks
My skin so thin.
Days like vacant tombs,
Diminishing, decreasing, dying.

An English graduate, Yvonne has always enjoyed creative writing, particularly poetry. Recent bereavements have led her to write more as a kind of therapy. A journalist for more than 30 years in print and broadcasting, Yvonne covered everything from terrorist attacks to celebrity interviews. She reported and presented on regional TV and radio stations and also for national news networks in the UK.