Killed slowly by comfort food
She just wanted stuffin, a lust for foodie loving.
A good old plumping up.
Shoveling it in, near gagging and gobbling every drop.
To feel full up; full to bursting with sausage rolls of love.
A cuddly kind of loving; to have her cake and eat it, clotted cream on top.
Just another stuffin for her lust filled, love lost, lonely muffin.
Meat and 2 veg, with gravy.
Plum duff; 2 wobbly pink blancmanges, cherries on the top.
It was not the fat or sugar that killed her,
nor one last long, long, hot, glistening black pudding.
Just one long forgotten spotted-dick.
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