Here is the now,
Here and now,
Your name will be the carry through,
The basic,
And the renew,
Fountain to thirst,
Sunday in the hearse,
Feeling terse,
And tense,
And harsh at best,
Self in denial,
Self loving approval,
Rating higher then low,
Here is the now,
and the get low.
If I bow,
It will be to You,
But lately,
It feels I worship me.
These days that pass,
With you at last,
Try me,
Text me,
I will be all to much available.
That bed didn’t fit,
And neither did you,
What I wanted, really,
Was a free tattoo.
THE RUCKUS JOURNAL 