before the prologue:

take a step back friends
because I haven’t shown you
anything
yet
this has all just been
a prelude
of the massacre to come
this mind is
fragmented, and
almost uninteresting
because we are
interconnected and irritated
in an iteration of
indoctrination, intoxication
and false festivities
it’s the killing game part two
and there’s just too much submission,
scratching, and screeching toward
energies diminished
we’ve lost what little latencies
still bind us to
hidden frequencies
and we’re all about
pathophysiology and neuropathy
serving the enemy in
mediocre day jobs,
at best I see
a softcover novel, waiting
for a less than hospitable retirement
poor fools weep
and beg for more

around the interlude:

lost and found
and following a
magnetic dive
I drove through hillsides
wandering and waiting
for adventure and strange tales to come
it was then that I came upon the artist
sheathed in (re)creation
through stumbling discourse
I discovered that
she was art itself
dangerous, curious,
exotic, and just out of reach
music and mysterious musings
fueled by fire, fury and fermentation
once inside led to
an eventual climax of souls
untold and
resting upon constraints of old
that sent us into uneasy slumber

during the epilogue:

restless and cold
it came time for
coffee and subtle conversation
with a sated belly
unseen colors were revealed
it was a quiet place
not quite sad and
wrapped in simple solace
unfinished, unknown
alone
and almost
like home