Carillon

Chocolate lingers. Bright wrappers in the bin.
Sweet fur upon the teeth and tongue. No sugar rush
can move me from this chair. Cleanse the palate with
a warming tot. Pass the tin around again. Shoot
the bell ringers. Frosted air cracks with heaven's
din. Cold murder while the year is young. Strangle them
with their own ropes while I dare. Stop my ears when
I dare not. No carillon can equal migraine.