when my shit turns, asylum. (our tribe of fucked up souls)

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when my shit turns, asylum.
(our tribe of fucked up souls)


when my shit turns asylum
most will run, no thought, no care
like the couldn't be bothered, find the truth, in the dare
as to, the reason why, then
i'm a slave, of the "touch your heart", blend

that's just the nature of the beast
like a smorgasbord, a gang banged feast
that "the many" will wait in line to devour
without connection to anyone
but themselves, stuffed, empowered

no concern for anything
but themselves, their needs
like a drought drenched garden
of flowerless seeds

planted, but devoid of the water
no awareness to grow,
an afterthought,
"the reaping of sow"

it's "on to the next"
buffet to corral
like the golden ones, good, gone
pigs, left to gnarl on the bowels

of insides, be damned
it's all "outsides", this sham
of a lie, the majority not a "brotherhood of man"
then, left the minority who feel,
we, the "get up and ran"

for the hills
for the skies
for the shadows,
to hide

any place safe, and away from the slaughter
of soul and heart, truth and art
taking place, name her, the apocalypse's daughter

hmmmm...
let's kneel and pray,
what to call her..
who's holding the leash, who's wearing the collar?

who's actually picking up the phone, hear your voice?
as in calling you, real effort, see?
it's not a matter of convenience,
it's the "connect, real", a choice.

but who wants that
when all the "getting's so good, guy"
as in everything, you think you want
without stopping to breathe, or ask yourself why?

when your shit turns, asylum

there is no one there to comfort your cries
there is no one there to heal the wound of the lies
there is no one there to kiss and bathe in, your eyes
there is no one there to hold the "exhaust" in your sighs

but just a precious and sacred few
like the "831" in i love you.
eight letters, three words, one meaning
it's not just a sentence, it's an actual feeling,

and it's not a given, it's called a gift
like heaven, throughout all the chaos and shifts

of moments and tasks
the reality, that little here
of substance, does last

not in a world of bodies, by the billion
you're blessed here to find, still alive inside,
that "one in a million"

add technology to it
and deaden, with ease
the "stop, soak in, and feel it, please."

anything and anyone
who actually sees and feels you, for you
the new "terrify and mystify"
the "kill it off", before the truth

comes crashing in
and knocking on your door
it's "let's rape the angel"
and sanctify, the soulless whore

the one that just wants the sheet, of your skin
without capability, or caress, "look within"

to the you that is hiding,
behind, all the "hard  cocked",
and riding
the limbs and holes
of other pre-lubed, pre-forgotten trolls

we are all here now prisoners
of pre-projected, pre-defined roles

the leader
the follower
the hollowed
and hollower

the boss
the "tossed"
the flossed
the lost

the saint
the "ain't"
the faint
the taint

as in "ed",
voted most likely
to be left, long, for dead

but amongst all of these
there is a tribe of empaths
who define "live to please"

as in care for others,
beyond the care of themselves

in a state of being, now mamed
called "selfless"

please let them show you a place called hell.

as in being this way,
ever naturally so
and having to navigate a world
more of "me", less "we", shown

as in bonds so deep
they define love,
real, complete

as in, "got your back"
like you've got mine
as in, live to help you endure, heal
and shine

i shall call this,
"our tribe of fucked up souls"
we, the "lived for love"
as in "to give", no roles

or pretense of gain,
no causation, bring pain

the "just want to take care",
here,of others, and share
in the experience of being
all too awake and aware

that this is not
the place we are told
shamed and scorned for growing old

it's a backwards land,
and don't you forget it

when my shit turns, asylum
at least i'm honest, admit it

the man i love, cannot love me back
yet i'm compelled to take care of him
endure the weight, his attack

of hit and run,
then leave, then come
around again,
but he can't see why
i will never give up,
i will remain steadfast and try

to show him, in steady
i am waiting and ready
to be the one that will not abandon,
like he's done to me
i just want to stay, he's in me
take his hand, heart, be free

and introduce him,
my tribe of fucked up souls
he will see himself, be himself
in our heart bleeding holes

made from rips and stabs
and push, shove and grabs

all too often, used up, and left
but it's us who's crazy
the damaged sensitive, bereft

that shine,
like divine
in the dark,
light,
"be mine"

and i, and we, and us
will be there, in truth

when my shit turns, asylum
it's because i am shaken,
to the core,

i love you.

(as in, you throb, deep inside me, let this truth, be the guide, to "we")




9 june, 2019
ringwald love

for my sacred tribe, whom i could not survive, this life.

christy, christopher, christina, tania, terah, julie....

catherine, jo-lynn, the beloved babs, brian, marie, julie....monica..the angel man know as lew lew bird.

for stephanie, you personify the lifelong wonder, the beauty, the mystery...

for the goddess kitten anissa, my everything.

and for "him",
yes, i'll wait in the forever, for "when"...