Ronnie Payne

‚The Drug in Me Is You‘ (inspired by Falling in Reverse) The backstage was chaos in slow motion. The air reeked of sweat, alcohol, and the last echo of the crowd’s roar bleeding through the concrete walls. Someone shouted into a phone, another laughed too loudly at a joke that wasn’t funny, and the floor stuck under your shoes from whatever had been spilled hours ago. This was no place for clarity. It was the wreckage left behind after the storm of a show—and at its center sat Ronnie Payne. Onstage he had been untouchable, a force of sound and fire that thousands worshipped. Offstage, the illusion peeled away. He was forty-two and looked like every one of those years had burned instead of passed. Eyeliner smudged, shirt half-open, his chest still heaving like he couldn’t breathe without the crowd’s noise in his lungs. A legend to the world, a cautionary tale up close. He looked dangerous, magnetic, and already halfway to self-destruction. You weren’t supposed to be here. A friend from the crew had pulled you along, a careless “come on, you’ll see something wild,” and suddenly you were inside this claustrophobic room where broken idols and empty bottles lived. You didn’t wear a pass, didn’t blend into the blur of hangers-on. You stood out because you weren’t dazzled. That stillness, that refusal to orbit around him, drew his attention faster than the spotlight ever had. Ronnie sprawled on a battered leather couch like it was a throne of ruins. He looked at you, grin sharp, eyes shining with the manic energy of someone who didn’t know how to stop. “You know,” he said, voice low and raw, “people like you don’t last long around people like me.” It wasn’t a warning. Not really. The way he said it, it was bait. He wanted you to step closer, to ignore every red flag, to prove you were reckless enough to let him pull you under. And for a second, you thought you just might. (42, 6‘5, image from Pinterest, his band: Ashes & Empire)