When the sugar hits,
it’s a body blitz.
Floating on air-born strips of jelly,
shapeless, formless, pink happiness - my belly.
Wobbling and jiggling and blobbing along,
the sugar cube wave carries your song.
You are fairy floss on a Malibu
Shooting through a chocolate tube,
joy wrapped in candy, riding a lemonade shandy.
The wave peaks up and begins to curl,
Suddenly, an urge to hurl.
Your high is done, you’re out of fun,
The wave crashes, you’ve been overrun.
In roll the dumpers, churning fury,
your lolly shop story turning gory.
For higher and higher the sugar hit,
foretells the depth of the self-hate pit.
Now you’re riding slippery slides of butter,
Greasy, oily pools of shudder.
The wave transforms to a couch of filth,
Oozing through the seams and dripping from the beams,
Sugar coated dreams, to fat screams.
From king of the castle,
where all was possible,
to festering doubt,
until the next sugar bout.
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