Dream About Death

I'm withering away

There are thousands of,

Tiny white flowers at my feet

When I leave this world, 

Would I finally be in my own?

My voice is a faded music,

My skin faded memories.

Those who talk to me listen to the music,

Those who look at me, 

I look at the sadness in their eyes.

It's a way people bid goodbye,

Even before we die.

They are getting ready.

While I'm still at;

Am I going to a place where roam underfed souls,

Or am I going home?