your body breaks down for good, you wake up.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
concrete and iron are all that greet you.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
a globe of steel holds you in place, keeping you from doing something you may or may not like doing.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
there isn't even a sky, just more rooms, you can't tell if more people are in them. you don't think it's entirely good or bad.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
your cell door is knocked upon.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
voices you can only hope are human-adjecent speak from beyond the veil of metal.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
their words are not made for you to understand, you don't think the remnants of your ears even picked up the full scope of the sounds.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
they leave.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
you stay here.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
you don't get the feeling of comfort and belonging, no calm of relief, no sorrow of regret.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
what were you like, anyways?
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
a light in the vague shape of a man stands over your room.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
it ponders.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
it leaves.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
you weren't good, you weren't bad.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
you may need to think about you and your body's actions for a while.
maybe something will get you now, maybe it won't.
maybe something will have to, too.