The Cravings of Mary Jane

"Pass me the weed."
Mary Jane uttered, half-asleep.
Grew into a tree, once a seed
Her greed of ganja, now rooted too deep.

One time beside the fountain,
she smoked using an apple as a pipe.
Suddenly, she was a bee in the mountain.
Gracefully buzzing in yellow and black stripe.

She'd sometimes lock herself in her bedroom
And try to battle her own demons.
But often, she becomes a salmon in a chamber of fume.
Too often, she'd lost all her reasons.

Poor Mary Jane can't balance her cravings.
Who could help to stop her ravings?