Milk?

The very last drop falls to the floor.
The glass lay empty, wishing it had more.
It does not want to go back,
where itís family lay on the rack.
Deep clean the glass,
The stains werenít meant to last.
Throw it about,
You think it has no inner route.
They are the ones who made the crack,
on the glass that began to tarnish black.
Repaint yourself to what you once were.
Hide the scars, that they made with many a slur.
For I want to be, what I was.