My muse works through bruises.
Bloody remnants of heartbreak lying just beneath the surface, the
Heart ache makes for beauty.
Tears salt the edges with attitude.
Fueled by hot, hurting anger.
Poking tender trigger points
Tipped past a point of reason,
Words SCREAM
And drip molten indignation.
 
I plead for peace
But then
How would I write?