I knew that nothing would take me out of here, maybe this was the confirmation of the purpose: suffer to die. I do not live, breathe or exist, I am a phantom now, fallen on the room floor, among lots of traps, I could not even drink all the glass of poisoned wine, I was weak and died before the last sip, now nobody else can see what is wine and blood all over the ground.
Life kept happening outside and one was forgotten here, but it is gone, it does not matter now, the dark night will be remaining here while lives happen there, there where life can turn into verb, in paradise.