Sonnet Sunday's: The Dance
The
grand ballroom is completely filled to the brink
Each
and every one of the them I would surely drink
Their
white painted faces make them look like cheap whores
Eventually,
they’ll all wash up onto the shores
They
all bow and curtsy with such a grand splendor
That
will end when I start my evil endeavor
Biding
time up in the rafter’s shadowy gloom
Not
one of them aware of the impending doom
The
corruption consumes every part of their soul
Their
kindness is as false as their painted-on mole
For
the chosen one, I will extinguish their fun
My
gullet will be satisfied when all is done

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