Inside A Coffin

I can't smell the sweetness of flowers. 

I can't speak, my body is rotten. 

I can't see, being unable to eat. 

Small insects are eating me like a reptile, becomes a victim. 

I can't touch the grasses of green, 

I am laying inside a box of dumpness, 

No one to recover me, 

No one to save me, 

Because I am dead. 

A dead person never wakes up but can write poetry of a coffin.