Toxicity (System Of A Down)

The sunlight streaming through the window of FirstLive CoffeeHouse was a stark contrast to the darkness that had settled inside me. Alonzo and I wrapped up another episode of “Good Morning Bushwick,” our usual banter and laughter barely disguising the internal turmoil I struggled to keep at bay. As the final notes of our theme song faded, I couldn’t wait to escape the bright lights and cheerful atmosphere. With my daily routine in place, I made my way to the same studio space where I’d spent countless hours drowning my sorrows in Coors Light tall cans and pouring my soul into Smule covers. The weight of my sister Angie’s absence bore down on me, a constant reminder of the pain and loss that haunted every corner of my existence. I couldn’t shake the bitterness that had seeped into my relationships, tainting my interactions with the people who cared about me the most. As I entered the dark studio, I paused for a moment, taking in the familiar surroundings. The walls seemed to close in on me, heavy with the memories and emotions I couldn’t outrun. I kept the camera off, unwilling to expose my raw vulnerability to the world. Cracking open a beer, I took a deep chug, feeling the cold liquid numb my senses as it slid down my throat. I picked up the microphone and began my cover of System Of A Down’s “Toxicity.” The words poured out of me, a reflection of the chaos inside. As the lyrics spoke of disorder and destruction, I couldn’t help but feel a connection to the sentiments expressed. The beer blurred the edges of reality, allowing me to sink deeper into the music and forget, if only for a moment, the unbearable pain that seemed to consume my every waking thought.