What is right

I cannot have him, still the hoping takes me somewhere, lifts me.  I will embrace this sorry type and sorrowfully admit that he is just someone.  I know and would but little. Take me and gently strangling. Why he wouldn’t have to me. All my shock is over, and I would surely die.

There is no way in hell or heaven that I can see him and have it be not that I know.  Just because I cry not to be a bland moralism, which is just a mushroom, a number of morels on some dark forest floor.

Now I see intuition, and there are obstacles.
The devil charm, a truth. 

I play at this game of windows too and longed to be Ruth.
It’s time to pray to our gods again, chained in our ugly, ornate expression,
the more complicated, the more horrific…