Her face turns up towards the rain,
She feels the pain, it’s hers,
The cleansing purity of it all,
No longer she will feign anything at all,
How marvelous and delightful,
How atrocious and frightful,
But tucked away in a closet she is kept,
For rainy days like these,
When she is forced upon her knees,
Begging please,
For the strangers no one knows,
But especially not her,
And she cries, why must it always be her,
Be me
