This tar was shallower ten years ago,
the skin was thicker too, as so was mine.
It used to barely come above my toes,
but every second higher yet it climbs.
And I can see the things that led me here,
those choices, things I did and didn’t say,
the people I love most and hold most dear,
but didn’t love enough to not betray.
The spotlight knows my skin more than the sun –
in California an impressive feat –
but neither could recall the damage done,
not even with their still relentless heat.
It must be them that heated up the tar.
How else could I have sunk so quick, so far?
From the perspective of Bojack Horseman (if he had the attention span to write a sonnet)