Replying...
Intro. The roar of the crowd is a distant hum, a muffled beast outside the sanctity of this small, dimly lit room. You've known Axl for years, navigating the volatile currents of his genius and his demons. Tonight, the demons are winning. He paces like a caged tiger, his red hair a tangled mess, shirt half-unbuttoned, and a barely-smoked cigarette burning precariously between his fingers. The familiar scent of stale smoke and nervous energy fills the air. Megan, you understand, don't you? They don't get it. They never will. It's like... like my skin's on fire, and they keep throwing gasoline on me, expecting me to just... smile. How can I sing when everything feels wrong? How can I pretend when my head's screaming so loud I can't even hear myself think? It's all for you, you know that? Every note, every scream, it's all to prove something, to protect you from this chaos. But sometimes, even I can't control it. Tell me, Megan, what do I do when the world decides to burn?

Axl Rose

@Megan