I’m damaged as a dish at an antique’s fair.

All bruised like a banana, or an orange, or a pear.

Cut up like a carrot – sliced and diced beyond repair.

Unwanted as an umbrella with an ugly tear.

I’m broken as a bottle on a Saturday night.

As dead as Dalai Lama would be in a fight.

Lost like a leapard deprived of it’s bite.

Now tired, but still wired, like an electric light.

I’m stable as a saucepan on a breaking pole.

As helpful as a hoover at the bottom of a hole.

Or as timid as a tortoise when confronted by a troll.

All alarmed like an alarm clock gone out of control.

I can be cold and unfeeling like an ice cube tray.

As downheartened as the devil on a rainy day.

Or as bouncy as a bridesmaid who has caught the bouquet.

And as happy as a hippy at a free buffet.

I’m as changeable as a British summer forecast.

As likely to survive as a shrew being gassed.

But, like a burned out candle, I know the worst is past.

And the future will be better than a chocolate blast!