Sentience Cessation Sonnet

Perhaps it will be Tuesday, and the sun
Will just have peeked above the Starbuck's roof
You'll glance up, munching on a Cinnabon;
You'll note a momentary breeze - and poof -
Ten thousand thousand thousand demon-lords
Machete-clawed, unclean in wing and face
Will overrun your city with their hordes
Emerging from the hole they've rent in space.
"The end of times!" Wolf Blitzer will intone.
"No we cannot!" Obama will proclaim.
And as I rise from my unholy throne
The trembling thunderclouds will spell my name.
Relax! Inhale deep. (Just be aware
You'll be inhaling fire instead of air.)

:-)