it’s been a year now,
full of carbonation bubbles and they still spit and sting at my face
every single time that                                
i am fooled enough to look.

it’s been a year now,
full of termite-eaten wood but still
no evidence.
i don’t want reverence.
i want you to forget about me.

       even after all this time
       i thought i could escape this slime,
       maintain the years of my prime;
       i could throw up.

              to tell you the truth,
              no one has ever followed me
              this far
              before.