Death calls to me;
Slowly and steadily with fear of the unknown.
My existence will be cut short by it
All that will be left of me will be memories for my loved ones,
Then I'll be left alone in my little six feet apartment with no water nor air,
It will be me alone wrapped up in a white linen clothes and covered with wood,
I'll become food for the moths to live on,
Slowly my name will fade away and no one will remember that I ever lived,
No one will ever know how I lived or survived in my little six feet apartment.