Do you believe, Mary Jane

That what ensues will remain?

Do sweet nothings rot your sleep

The windows hollow, the windows black

In your journal, Mary Jane do you keep

Eleven ways to murder, bludgeon and attack?

Mary Jane, do red-blue lights tickle your skin,

And does the sound of quiet make you scream?

And Mary Jane, Mary Jane––why did you grin

When blood was spilled last night into the cold, river stream?