John Leet
1997
Suffer to be Beautiful By Ana 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 a real 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!
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