Fleeting

Envy..

Everything is fleeting
transient
swiftly passing
you know the meaning.

I've loved many
but each time less
and less and less
until I am left 
to write poetry.
 
"This is what I said I wanted!"
is it not?
all this time to think
to contemplate
to write!
 
How much time is wasted
starring at the wall?
endlessly
hopelessly
obsessively trying 
to acquire knowledge
only to forget 
the very next morning.
 
I say I write
I don't write
this isn't writing.

I say I write
because
I am envious 
of another writer.