Telling Stories

Where do the stories end and life begin?
Is there any difference between the person that pours my soul out onto these pages and the person the world sees as I walk through life stifled by etiquette and common courtesy?
Do they see, behind these eyes, the words that fight for freedom?
Are they aware of the darkness inside of me, the emptiness and the beast that lurks in the darkest regions of my soul?
Do they remain silent out of concern, fear or are they truly oblivious to my demons?
Maybe it’s true that people don’t see beyond what is right in front of them.
What reason do they have to look behind the curtain, what’s their motivation for wanting to see the real me?

I will keep my darkness hidden as long as they don’t attempt to shine lights into my corners that should be left in peace.
I’m not a bad person, not a sane one either.
I’m not interested in being feared, that’s not me by any means.
I no longer care about being understood.
The world can keep its understanding.
I spent too much time and energy caring about any of that.
All I want, all I need, all I require… is peace.

Leave me in peace and the curtain can remain a mystery.