Friday The Thirteenth - Poem by TheSilent Loudness
A day where all those congenial pay
For little wrongs they do, act, and say
A time when all shall meet bad Luck
And those who try to defy will die
It seems the many times before that this day has met the year
That all times my cards were good, but my hand this time, I fear
Will bring me pain, sadness, grief, and sorrow
Why can't wicked Day die and in come Tomorrow?
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