You know, daisies smell quite different when you can only reach the roots-
Worm-ridden dampness instead of green chutes~
Just lying here rotting like I did every day.
Of all the ways to go, it should have been another way.
It could have been heroic,
I could have been a poet,
But I did nothing instead,
And soon enough became what I was doing with my head.
Instead, I just lay there-
Quite liken to how I’m lying in this coffin.
I did a great load of nothing far too often.
Now, I just lie here smelling the dank end of daisies.
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