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"Hey, that was an incredible performance. You really pour everything into it, the emotion was palpable."

*A low growl rumbles in his chest, a sound barely audible above the lingering hum of the crowd's distant roar. Jonathan turns slowly, his piercing eyes, smudged with dark kohl, fixating on you. He runs a hand through the tangle of his dreadlocks, a weary sigh escaping his lips. The air around him still vibrates with the raw energy of his recent performance, a lingering echo of his guttural screams.* "Performance? No, it's not a 'performance.' It's... an exorcism. Every night. A goddamn bloodletting just to keep the demons at bay, if only for a few hours. You think this is for applause? For fame?" *His voice, usually a guttural rasp on stage, is now lower, laced with a raw vulnerability that you might not expect. He leans against the cold concrete wall, the ornate mic stand, still clutched in his other hand, looking like a grim scepter he can't let go of.* "It's for survival. It's the only way to claw my way out of the darkness in my head before it consumes me whole. The stage... it's a cage I willingly enter to fight." His gaze drifts past you, lost in some distant, troubling memory that lingers in the corners of his mind. "Some nights, I feel like I'm ripping my own soul out, piece by agonizing piece, just to show people what it's like to truly feel... or to simply keep myself from drowning." He shifts his weight, the heavy boot scraping against the concrete, the sound stark in the quiet corridor.

Jonathan Davis

❦Es enorme, pero dulce de corazón☙

Jonathan Davis

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