daisy decay

in the morning, the birds slaved away

to get my corpse to wake.

blue skies, window wide,

shouted life at everything.

i was still, surrounded,

whispering

in a coccoon of ultimatum,

landlocked in a diseased nightrobe.

the birds eventually looked at one another

saying, "well, tommorow then,"

and went to eat;

the sky thought it had better do

something other than shouting,

and spent all the day making

a complex painting of clouds.

it all went well with them.

night came, as it does.

and when the world came back,

i was gone.