A/N: This was a poem I wrote after a very long, very difficult day. It makes no sense, and it’s pretty messed up. A cheap attempt at an interesting rhyming pattern that didn’t work.

Plain Jane

Plain Jane sits

In her gray-walled room

Her gray brick house

Her gray-skied gloom

She hurts

She bleeds

She begs to find

The love she needs

Try to hide

Your boring face

Beneath boring masks

In this boring place

They see

They know

You have no sun

To help you grow

Crawl inside

Your tired life

With tired eyes

Tired of the strife

Who cares?

Who’ll cry?

Who will miss you

When you die?

Plain Jane cuts

But doesn’t bleed

She doesn’t care

She doesn’t need

Can’t think

Can’t feel

Can’t take that step

And make it real

Plain Jane sits

As pain-filled years

Make painful wounds,

Cry painful tears

Won’t stand

Won’t fly

Just watches life

As it passes by.