A Dark Sonnet About Awkward Cornflakes Dinners (or another clunky title)

The gift is food, a boon sincere and clear,
On Saint Nick’s day, we mask our secret fear.
With corn and flakes, our tables do excite,
A decadent display on Thursday night.

Politeness dims the corn in flaky eyes,
Each conversation destined to capsize.
Yet frolic lurks in every bite of chip,
As laughter cracks on every trembling lip.

Survival’s chance, a grim and fleeting dare,
This feast reminds us of our deep despair.
A Thursday so dark, an evil joy to feed,
With gifts and food, we’re comatose, indeed.

Oh, Santa’s song, a song that serenades,
A celebration where our hope decays.

Awkward cornflakes dinner with family and friends