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Lead me on. 

 The trails of rose.
Dipped in crimson.
From the blood,
that mother and father,
shaped me from.
 

Take me away. 

 
To that place beyond the thorn.
Comfort laced in its veins.
From the voices,
that mother and father,
Sang me home.

 Bring me back. 

 To our cottage of hopes.
So fragile it tore.
From the life,
that mother and father,
used to bore.

 There are tales. 

 Better left unsaid. 

 And a few,

 Left to teach a lesson, 

 So painful, 

 It became a monster, 

 That mirrored, 
.

.

.

The villain within the hero.

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