Broken Dreams

I was a dreamer. Now I live a nightmare. 

My heart matched the tempo of the crowd's applause. Great. Hours of blinding lights melting away my sanity and deafening screams reminding me of evil's potential. 

I had made it. I sold over two million records, yet every night I cried myself to sleep. 

Because they don't tell you that misery can live with fame. That a crazed fan could show up in your hotel room, standing over your bed, a gun pressed to your cheek and then rape you. And especially that your contract prohibits you from speaking of it.