Blood On the Brooch

Most of the time flowers will do. Those gentlest of ambassadors commissioned to disarm the caustic ego. Trim burrs from misunderstandings. Temper the burn of good intention gone awry... To most they whisper of peace and love they're brooch to the breast of forgiveness. Conflict and Confusion often arise. when the blossom stompers arrive... a brute cannot comprehend the language of flowers. These are the times when powder must flash. Bullets must strip the gold from its silence... Blood must get the attention of the icy rain. To glean a grain of humble from the ogre hearted, who's every breath wishes to singe the garden.