C

She sits on the train looking out at the rain Another crap day full of pain The appointment is booked and she’s running late She wants to throw up and make it all go away She knows the route like the back of her hand Each graffitied brick, grey and bland An important item with the facing issues She checks her bag for the small pack of tissues It seems so unfair making this trip all alone She would love a friend or chaperone The greeting as ever is warm and well meant But she’s going to hell which is heaven sent They link her up to the dreadful machine And the process soon starts which will make her clean Never once has she uttered why me with intent It’s written in the stars she knows that it’s meant Mercifully held in the hands of time She waits for her fate from the great divine