Image: Wassily Kandinsky – Cossacks (1910)

Aimee S. Green is an MA student currently living in Birmingham. Aside from working on a novel for her dissertation, she adores experimenting with short story forms and playing with perspective. She shares her poetry and prose on her blog, at
https://aimeegreenwriter.wordpress.com/

Bombs

Run.

Like the bustling of
a city, bursting
at the seams
with life,

two taps feed
the space
with clear, untainted
innocence. Feel the heat
radiate
like joy from the surface
as the space fills, and grows,
and becomes.

Take a look
at the world below
the brim.
Leave it be,
let it flow.

Then.

Drop it in.
Watch it expel
and fizz, staining
the space
with its intrusion.

Watch as it extracts
the untainted
innocence
and destroys it

with a layer of glitter
and the overwhelming stench
of lavender.

Watch
as it does,
as it changes,
as it is.

Wait.

Now stop
the stream,
kill the bustling.

See the blood
pink water,
the explosive’s
fizzing remains.

The reflective, silver
plughole
now coated

in cocoa butter.

See, now, the extent
of what you’ve done.