Melancholy & Missing Lighters

  When people die, they were so wonderful in life, A tragic loss. Said babies aborted are a crime to a god -- Who never shows. The people left behind, the mother didn't die, Meaningless, just Sacks of meat No less. The words from living tongue have no worth, And a child's heart isn't beating after birth, Not a cell that multiples means a goddamn thing to them, Because it isn't very good for their supply and demand.

  My second and current pentacle; my first one had been long ago mysteriously lost, closing a chapter in my life My first pentacle was a cheap piece of jewelry that I'd shoplifted from Hot Topic with my cousin as teenagers. It was a necklace, the sort with a twisted chain that discolors when put in water. By that point, I had long since removed myself from Wicca and was forming my own personal craft and religion. Additionally, despite being well-aware of the pentacle's much older origins, I'd known very little about the pentacle. Still, it felt right, it felt complete, and it felt like a symbol of my craft nonetheless. My cousin and I had both worn our matching pentacles proudly and everywhere, even when we went swimming in the ocean and consequently ended up with rusty rings around our necks. Our families just sort of gave us weird looks or simply shrugged it off. It was my grandmother, who, upon noticing the necklace, had stepped up to me with a beaming smile on her ...

  There was once a young boy who had left his town in favor of building a life in the forest that borders the town. Venturing deep into the forest the boy is eventually overtaken by hunger. Just then, a lone buck appears from the trees. "Please don't kill me." The deer begs.  "Why would I kill you?" "To eat me, of course. Aren't you a hunter?" The boy shakes his head. "I am not a hunter. I am hungry, but I will not kill you." Grateful to the boy, the buck leads him to a patch bursting with strawberries. There, the boy helps himself to the seemingly endless supply of vibrant red fruits. Having eaten his fill, the boy is suddenly thirsty. So, the buck then brings him to a clear river where the air is clean and crisp. As the boy stoops down to scoop up some water, a bass pops his head out from the river. "Stop!" The fish cries, "Do not pour any waste into this river." "Why would I pour waste into the river?" ...