I don't eat bread or chocolate cake,

in dinners and breakfasts I do not partake,

there's cherry plum pudding cooled fresh on the sill,

it may as well sit there –to me it's all swill.

I cannot remember the taste of dessert,

when I climb out my dress my ribs creak and they hurt,

I'm down three sizes to a minus 2,

I need to put cotton in the sides of my shoes.

I cry in my sleep for one last little bite,

a glass of tap water stays my appetite,

my lips have not tasted areal crème Brule,

in so long my taste buds have just withered away.

my doctor and mother share the same phobia -

that my skin will stretch tight and eventually tear.

I suffer and diet and look like a rake,

but oh! What a beautiful corpse I will make!