• Walking in a field of daisies,
    I see a multitude of faces,
    a multitude of places.
    places I'd be better suited to be than here,
    places I'd be better suited to see than here,
    because here is where it hurts.

    but yet here I am,
    flawed and forgotten,
    but here nonetheless.
    taking up space,
    and taking up time.

    denying my inevitable end,
    escaping one labyrinth,
    creating another,
    another maze, another day,
    another haze i need to clear,
    the fog too thick to even see my fate,
    the ever present moisture blinding me.

    i accidentally step on one of those precious daisies,
    the essence of beauty, trampled under my bare and dirty feet,
    the whole field flies up in flames,
    everything either dead or dying, nowhere in between.

    each individual flower will burn,
    be it now or in a month,
    the thick, endless fog covers that fact as well,
    once again, making foresight impossible,
    but when time comes, all will wither away and disappear.

    and then alone on that barren plain,
    i will sit, and spread some seeds,
    and when the rain comes they will grow,
    growing roses where daisies had been,
    replacing the old with the new,
    and i will laugh myself into eternity,
    my time to be replaced is upon me.

    For just as a daisy is a daisy,
    and a rose a rose,
    humans are humans,
    and interchangable throughout,
    only the field remains,
    untouched and unbroken by time.