Sweet and shiny, the goldfish realizes its own bitter and dull mortality
as algae acts as a harbinger of pain and sadness:
ever present and ever blooming.
It now struggles to breathe in the toxic environment where it’s held captive.

Even the trickle of current is a lie.
It’s manufactured by a collection of captors
to make their shiny captives believe they have a chance —
a chance to escape.
Native looking plastic rocks
hiding spots hand picked at another’s discretion.
Yet if the rocks or hiding spots have even a hint of authenticity,
that will poison the water.
Between false security of currents and hints of authenticity,
the algae blooms further.

The fish finds its getting harder and harder to breathe.
Breathing becomes a luxury, and anything deep
or sudden makes it struggle harder.
It has a flash of realization that it is doomed —
doomed to be enclosed in a slowly misting tank,
watching a horrifically preventative,
slow and painful death slide into view
and gradually constrict the shiny captive
till the last of its very few brain cells register
that the captor cares enough for it
to sprinkle in a last meal,
but not enough to clean the tank.