RMC

I ask myself why the best
if I can’t make the test
for the best compare to rest;
weary head is ready to confess.

I want love from above
to condone my methadone
and I can push out lungs
what needs to be condoned.

Ready may I fit a fit
a method I won’t quit
for the ready willing finger
on the strings of a guitar pick.

Lonely in thought
but growth fills a quill
with a family and a will
that makes a fake thrill.

Just be lonesome I’ll be
without mystery and leaps
of faith it is made astray I keep
what the quill it reaps.