How a bubble burst

A word starts to form, a little bubble, fragile, transient…
Myriad colours dance on its surface,
The brilliant orange swirls into ominous black,
They snake around, trying to form something…
What is it? A question, a smile, a caress?
The bubble floats, silent, gentle…
But those colours, they are not still…
Restless, they dance around…
As if trying to find something…
What? An answer? A touch? Absolution?
There’s another colour here,
Deep red, like blood…
Is the word bleeding?
Red seeps across the bubble…
Till all the colours disappear into it…
The bubble trembles…
As if trying to scream…
But there’s no sound…
The wind tosses the bubble around…
The red deepens….
The trembling is more urgent….
But, no sound…
Drifting, the bubble seeks shelter…
There’s something nearby, warm, it seems, protective…
It drifts, weakly, it’s crimson now…
It drifts, towards that shelter…
And then comes the touch, but it is a trifle too hard…
The crimson spurts out…
What did it touch? Didn’t it look protective?
There are a few red drops on the cemented pavement…
The bubble? Its no more…
But, there was no sound…
The colours have gone…
There’s no bubble…
It burst with the touch it wanted so much…
Around it, everything goes on, as before…
That’s as it should be, for there was no sound…