(after The Blob That Ate Everyone by R.L. Stine)
There’s a scene in my story
where the blob hides in the basement,
licks its lips hungrily, waiting for fresh meat.
It’s an autobiography about
my life as a writer.
At the end, it rampages through the town;
crushes buildings. Eats everyone.
If everything I wrote came true–
I’d make the blob eat me too.
I’d start it from the beginning;
a dark and stormy night–
a curious child searching
the basement for a light.