and there's a place you can go when everything good is gone, but no one knows where it is, and no one gets there and makes it back to tell, because
maybe, just maybe, maybe
that place eats your soul, and only sends back the empty shell of what you were
(but how could we say? no one's told us of their experiences there.
maybe, just maybe, maybe
no one's ever really gone,
maybe, just maybe, maybe
they never even existed)
maybe, just maybe, maybe
we're waiting for something that isn't there. sometimes the grass fades, and the sky turns green, and we lose the happiness that kept us warm through winter, and the heat of summer becomes a biting chill, threatening to eat from the outside in and back out again and
maybe, just maybe, maybe
that's what we've been waiting for.
maybe, just maybe, maybe
that chill with eat the rotten bits of ourselves, like maggots on burnt flesh.
maybe, just maybe, maybe
we could all use some more maggots. and
maybe, just maybe, maybe
everything is gone but us, and we have no where else to go, and
maybe, just maybe, maybe
that was all we ever really wanted, all this time.
maybe, just maybe, but maybe,
we're all going to be okay.