Milk stains on my trousers, a shocking revelation of my weakness, I look with a broken mind to the white spots on the fabric and try to stand still, I fall on the floor, gaze to the ceiling, all white and unstained, no spiders no webs, a vast horizon of nothingness and empty void.

I rub my face then stand up looking more confused to the world around me, no one is watching, no one is giving me a hand, no one; except the delusional demons, angels and some angry gods.
Milk stains cover my hands, brush my hair with it, and dissolve my desires.
I walk out, open the heavy heart, and confront the different faces in the distance, voices, laughs, some cries of pleasure and a lonely pain, a scream of anger and solitude, a heartless dream.
A stained white sun sets in the horizon, volcanic ash blows over the heavens, and prayers burn then fall onto the earth, they will never reach the first sky, let alone the end of the universe. But nevertheless I pray with the crowd, drink the last drops of milk and walk away.