The best part of any meal is dessert. The worst is that last bite.
A piece of cake, a bit of chocolate or a spoonful of ice-cream, it doesn’t matter, they’re all the same. Not only is it full of sugar and calories that you really didn’t need in the first place; not only is it going to keep you from reaching that taut body that has been nothing but a dream for all these years. No, but it’s also a harbinger of a vile poison that curdles the sweetest of sherberts and creamiest of chocolates; as you scrape the bottom of your bowl or bite into that last dilectable morsel, you take a hippo-sized bite of guilt along with it. GUILT.
That sinking feeling that this bite has cost you all that you thought was possible when you woke up that morning. The dream of living just a day when you spent more calories than you consumed; a day when you willed yourself to obey your resolutions that have collected cobwebs since 2003. A day when temptation was trampled under foot for a change. But no; your weakness is what you swallow with that last mouth. Your lack of commitment and self-control are heaped up and stuffed down your throat. O lovely sweet treat, how you have deceived your way into my gutt, literally! How weak you make me feel? And now that I have had you, I must taste the bitterness of my guilt and feel myself swell under your weight, which is now my weight. But if I died tonight, I would be glad I had you. Yet, if I do not, I will live to see myself once again consumed by that last, tantalising, most desirable bite; writhing shortly after in pungent guilt.
image from here