Purple punches on the skin like berries perched upon a branch.
A sample so sweet, a flavour so bitter, an aftertaste like a broken heart.
Brownish blue scratches turn to stitches sown in patterns to the quilt.
The mirror has no time for excuses nor for the regret or the guilt.
Then there are the layers beneath, the shield before the heart and soul.
They will heal you from within like a guiding hand on a broken throne.
Although the pain will still be felt the bruises they will fade.
You’ll pick the berries from the branch and savour the strength in each taste.