Daisy was like a flower in Autumn,
She had a face just like chalk.
Daisy had a heart that burnt auburn,
And had eyes reminiscent of a hawks.

Daisy flew from April to May,
As her happiness drained from her eyes.
Daisy flew from glee to dismay,
The devil often made her cry.

Daisy tried so ever much,
But Daisy could never fight enough,
And Daisy wilted into the ground,
Just another soul in hells lost and found.

Vulnerable years gave me sound advice
and I turn it over in my mind.
The advantage of sadness took my voice,
crumbled it,
sealed away my words
and left me to become unusually communicative
in my own reserved ways.
I understand that I maintain habits of a curious nature,
that I make you the victim
of sleep, preoccupation, hostility.
I know the secret griefs of your wild, unknown hands.
The way you love me
is laced with plagiarism and gesture,
filled with opposite alphabets and slurred speech.
I may be destitute and old
but my skin will weep for you,
my body will be soft,
my words will linger like syrup
in the cracks of your palms.
After an unknown point,
I won’t care what I’m made of.
Judging you is constant waiting and infinite hope.
I am certain that my decency will become snobbery,
that my tolerance will fade
and I will become impatient.
East from here, west from here,
is the sun – uniform, under intricate attention.
If I am the unbroken chain
of successful gestures,
my body is but betrayal
waiting to be unearthed.
Will my repulsive nature
disturb your peace,
the way you rest so unattainable, so beautiful?
What foul dust floats in the wake of your limbs,
so close to the useless sorrows of younger men?
It was a prominent, descending tradition
of pride and fault.
You were supposed to look like him,
a delayed man from long ago,
the centre of the world.
You bubble and boil and brood
and I make you restless
in a warm, wide season.
Too warm, too wide.

I do not like a rose
It is thorny

I love to be just
A simple Daisy

my love.
standing in the daisies. i wish you were closer.
standing strong and not letting go of the reeds beneath your feet
i always hope that one day. you will trust me again.
i know that what i did was unforgivable.
but today i stand.
alone.
what i said i meant. i will not change that. but how i said it.
i am disgraced. please believe me.

i
love
you.

I kept hush of the trappings of your watered down spirit so their ears would not bear the burning news. The flickers of innocence flashed its teeth as we wrapped our pinkies around eachother for the last time and promised to not let go. Four days after you walked, I laid my soul for eyes to greive upon, for hungry dogs to ravage my remains, slobbering like there wasnt enough on their plate to fill their expanding appetite. I wonder if on the walk back home you saw a daisy and thought of how you let that promise become as spoiled as my remains. I wonder if you plucked it, held it, and said how ravishing it looked, only to leave it with pulled roots.

Everyday I watched Daisy dance in the park.
She was a girl of eight years old.
She always looked so carefree and
without a single problem in the world.

I came to watch her dance each day,
because I envied her beautiful innocence.
She twirled and leaped and curtisied and tip toed
across the playground without a hint of wickedness.

I watched her and thought of the work I had to do,
but Daisy had an abundance of free time.
I knew I was much too busy to be watching her,
but I loved the reminder of my long lost prime.

She was the ideal of who I aspired to be.
A girl who can dance with all of her soul
and not worry about anyone that may be watching.
A girl who knows the simple things make us whole.

I feared for my little Daisy.
I was afraid of the day she'd start to comprehend
that this life isn't one giant beautiful ballet.
When that day comes, her dancing will violently end.

I feared for myself as well.
What will happen to me when her dancing is done?
Who will I watch and admire each day?
The restless sinful flesh will have won.