All around your blueberry porsche
I saw a bunch of people
And oh, the fun you were having of course
****! What a weasel

Transparent yet veiled
With tendrils cloaked in daggers
Jellyfish mingle

When the last tree falls
And the seas swell with plastic
We'll have done our part

I wish I could write a great piece and then chill for a few

Instead of scrounging each day to create something new

Every poem I write literally makes me jones for more

Is it the poet or the addict in me?
I really can't be sure