Endless fields of daisies.
Bare feet and black dress.
It’s still dewy.
I’m still sleepy, tired.
I don’t want to try again to get up and leave.
Be someone else.
I may roll over and dream away if I can.

But there’s a line of laundry.
I’m waiting for the sun to dry it.
So I can shake my clothes.
Before tomorrow I will be done.

The same things now repeatedly daily.
These are the days I didn’t think I’d get to see.
I wanted to die young.
These are the “old daisy days”.
Everything keeps on repeating.

I’m so over trying to get up and leave.
Trying to put on a face.
I can dream in my field feeling so exhausted.
My troubled mind can lay down in daisies.

Waiting for a line of laundry.
Not too long, you don’t want to be having to shake too many eventually.
When the next round hangs to dry.
It wears you down.
Cause it has to be right.
Or it feels too bad.

But now I’m stuck.
And I’m so over everything in here.
I’m so done trying to change or do anything to help myself getting up.
Maybe I should just lift up a foot.
Pick a little daisy.

And take the smallest little steps.
Think in possibilities still.
Nothing to lose.
Lying in a field of old daisies.
With a tired mind.