Image of the poem (with formatting in different fonts and sizes) together with an image of a broken white mug and some shattered pieces of that mug against a black background. The poem is as follows: I need duvet days Shattered. Broken. Numb. Empty. Physically, and emotionally. It's very invisible. I am sick all the time. I'm fed up with it, and I'm trying to live my life without it. But it’s getting worse. My brain is working but my body can't do it. It started in one bit of my body and now other bits of my body follow. I can be as well as possible and with a full life. But I think of myself as a perpetual patient, as disabled. It isn’t how I thought my life was going to be.