Sometimes I wonder if I am your fish.

Trapped in withering glass confines,

algae running up the sides, 

alone and dwindling every time 

I see your face outside of mine.

I swim around in murky water 

looking for food, why do I bother? 

I subsist on the grime and the growths 

in the tank from the filter 

you thought long ago had sank 

I push all the pebbles into the corner

to make my escape, 

to burrow in the ground. 

 

I bang my head against the glass 

everytime I see you pass 

I try to scream 

but you do not see 

you just let me 

sit and die 

in the green. 

 

My scales once vibrant,

and orange 

and bright, 

now pale and fading, 

dying in the light. 

 

But I can scream 

and I can escape

and my scales burn a violent crimson.

 

I do not think I am your fish, 

withered and voiceless, 

tank half turned to mist, 

I just think you are deaf and negligent, 

blind to my capable, 

vindictive fins.