Todays Impromptu #7 was brought by Simone Muench and asked we write an autobiographical cento based on lines taken from our own poems. This I have done but I hope that readers realise it is purely autobiographical in that it reflects my other life as a writer of horror stories.
Wheels within Wheels
Wheels within wheels, precision driven
Food for the worms that crawl beneath
Yet the dance is not done until flesh is torn
Won’t you take my hand and die with me?
This is my playground, my room with no view
I roll you snake eyes, dice with death
In this deepest, darkest realm
Beneath earth-shrouded sheets
My blood writes the wide world red
And sunrise damns my soul to sleep
A writer - I think that says it all.