Thickness Within The Blood

I remember an inexperiece of time.

An aphotic one at that.

Moments of confusion that puzzled my ponders,

And lusts for proven points reigned of more importance.

Where tyrants shifted their angers at us,

And saddened disturbed expressions weeped upon my face.

Masking it was an unwanted chore,

And it was you who cleaned it up for us

As I stood there in uncertainty.

I gaze back and realize,

It was quite simple,

It was your duty.

An uncalled for protector of our innocence.

And ignorantly we retorted.

We had that luxury.

Guiding our hands from the blades of the craft.

Letting only a fraction of the burn take its tole.

While the fires embodied already opened wound of yours.

And barring the scars behind your eyes.

You selfish asshole...

You again without permission,

Pried yourself in,

And we unknowingly let it happen.

The advantages taken,

How you acted..

Talked..

Became what I despised.

How hastily I came to these judgements.

Out to control my every damn movement and action taken,

And how the glasses worn were often so foggy.

Unclear to understand.

That you were just the martyr for us,

And not the monarch I once thought.

A burden you abused upon yourself,

A shield to throw over us and take post..

To show a true thickness held within the blood.

Blood that stained your hands.

In giving us the bliss,

To experience ignorance.