poetry

Riding The Reaper

we drive today on friday the thirteen toward that eternal battle between life and death, hoping against hope for good news good friendship good times even if they could be the last. i have never faced death myself, though he teased me once with a glimpse many years ago as our car spun around and slammed into a ditch. he has taunted me many times hence by plucking the ones i love from my life…

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