Two planets, two plains on separate paths leading no where in particular. This was how he has always seen being on the stage, giving himself to the mass below. This is what he saw life as, a huge gap between him and reality in any form, and he did not enjoy it as much as his partner had. Wasn't his choice really, but he couldn't hide in front of thousands, couldn't give away the truth any more than what he already had.

He loved performing, loved it more than almost anything, but he felt detached from it, wishing he was back in his solitude, where no one could ever reach him again, could never hurt him again. Image was everything to the world, and he would roar like the lion to get his way, but silently break like a small twig when stood upon. He couldn't support what they wanted from him.

"You know that you make your own personal angst. It's worse than those damnable fan fictions you used to read. You live in dreams, and dream of reality, something you still long to grasp even though there is no way you can ever go back."

Reality was as much fiction as any one of those stories, it didn't matter how hard he tried. Light was an enemy, dark was a keeper, but he would always long for the balance between it all. He found it ironic how badly he wished to run for the sanctuary of his bathtub whenever he was taken from it. Publicity and constant travel would not allow for a 'normal' chamber, but the bathtubs never seemed to bother him. Be it that it was one of his favorite places while he was living, or if it was simply that he liked being able to lay somewhere cool and comforting, he was sure someone somewhere was laughing.

Ten thousand fans screaming his name, screaming his songs, so loudly that it echoed in his ears, throttled his mind. He would grit his teeth, close his eyes and play along as well as he could. It was never fair for him to be stuck in a mess he didn't start, didn't get into in the first place.

"You are a Diva, pouty fits and throwing things around the room. It's called violence, Darren, and it's all because of you. Your body is looking for something, that is clear, but you hold back like you can still change what is going on. You could still tell them, you know...Tell them that you want out and away. I'm sure they are all looking and waiting for it. They are watching you more than you even realize, and if you don't start paying attention, you will be losing more than just your reputation."

So he'd become darker onstage, wanted more and more to stop giving kisses to the girls, and start taking more. He'd caught himself numerous times, just in time to pull away from doing anything he would quickly regret. Sunglasses would hide his emotion from whoever was close to him as he would whisper his sorrows and regrets of having to let go sooner than would have been usual.

He was running, running from light, life, fans, and everything else that ever came around. He would lurk some times on his computer, watching things collapse as fans declared that he wasn't worth it anymore, that his kindness has left so suddenly, no wonder that no one ever saw him off the stage any longer.

"Fans are just people, and people are food. Think about it, would you rather live another night, or let another clingy teenybopper drive you mad? I know there is still some small amount of logic in that clouded and confused little mind of yours, you just have to look for it. Does it matter anymore if they all sing your praise? You are above it, no one matters but you and I. Watch them, you'll see, and you'll finally know."

He didn't want to see, half the world didn't care what he did. The bit that did care was obnoxious and callused about every little thing. What more was he supposed to give besides the music which had carried him through so well before? No satisfaction, no oxygen to breathe, no free space or time. He had entered into the center of the bane of society, certainly few ever turned back when thrown into the fire.

Expressions were turning angry, voices loud and harsh against his ears, against the others he believed so strongly in. The stage had made itself into a display case, one that held him and the others before the mass in an uncomfortable strangle. They hissed and booed the first of the stage, only to increase demand for him in the long run.

He couldn't keep hanging on to something that no one else wanted him to, or so he was told time and time again. His life was being pulled apart, sold to the highest bidder so he could be led around like some poodle. It was no longer about what he thought and wanted, it was majority vote, the world against him.

"It's greed you know, what drives them like this. It's what fuels the stalkers, baits the dark and burns the innocent. It's an attitude just as much as an emotion. You should hear some of them talk, like you are some priceless artifact that few can have, but all want. They swarm you like a plague of locusts, and you are the only one they will ever want. Maybe now you will see what drives me away from fame, the lights and the 'love' as you would call it. They don't love you, they want you stuffed so you'll last forever for them."

A vulgar image to go with the rancid taste of fame. Madness was all that was left, at least he could see that if nothing else. He'd become an object in a materialistic world that cared nothing for emotion or thought. Somewhere deep, he privately prayed that he would let himself live long enough to see a better day.

"When the madness stops, then you will be alone..."