Goldfish

Why are you dying?

I stare silently at you in your temporary dwelling.

With each moment,

each gasp you take in,

each desperate lunge to cling on to life,

I hear your death rattle.

The sound grows ever louder.

That which used to be translucent,

pale,

boring,

is now delicately streaked with

the crimson tinge I have come to associate

with the same blood that rushes through my veins.

They're like feathers crafted from blood.

It is beautiful.

Truly a work of art

that can be compared to naught else.

It looks like a crimson butterfly.

As I gaze down upon you,

counting the seconds that tick by

the moments that flutter past

I don't know why this is happening.

You were healthy and strong.

crippled, now, by some strange disease.
Something that we cannot cure.

I shall enjoy watching you die.