Thirteen bells you will never hear chime on the last hour.
Would you drop dead from fright or expect the reaper’s call?
Carefully you count the clangs, expecting only twelve.
Uneasy relief exhales. You live another day.
One day, that thirteenth bell will herald your final breath.
Or so you believe. Thirteen is an evil number,
A cursed integer, the unholiest of digits.
You won’t buy a baker’s dozen or leave home on the
Thirteenth day. You skip over every thirteenth birthday,
Wishing not to tempt fate with a bright celebration.
You avoid being the thirteenth to arrive and you
Will purposely be late, quivering outside the door.
Thirteen is your Judas, the kiss of your betrayal.