If there’s a god, a necessity is created for magick, unexplained by science, how do we ease our burdens and our suffering, the only way is to communicate it to the heavens, build a pyre with your harvest, slaughter the goat, drink the pig blood, and say, oh, great master, we beseech you, there’s not enough virgins to fill our hunger, bang, bang, someone shot the poet, I almost thought this would be romantic…

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

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