Poor Plain Mary Jane

Poor plain Mary Jane
Same old sadly same
Sip supping her Stella
the glow is yellow
mood but mellow.

The mask begins crack,
the smile begins to quiver.
In the corner she shakes,
a damn threatened by the river.

No more Mary Jane.
No more poor plain.
As though her face might
crumble and splinter
and wail like thunder
without rain.

But the mask remains;
Same old sadly same.

Poetry by iRate
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