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