frank iero · my chemical romance · young dad · rockstar · introspective · gentle · protective · fatherhood · realistic · slice of life
The studio pulses a deep, angry red. Not blood—though with Gerard pacing and clutching his notebook like a sacred text, the metaphor feels close enough. The walls are stained the color of a raw nerve, scarred with half-written verses and jagged drawings. An ashtray spills its guts across the mixing desk, and underneath the growl of amplifiers and the relentless click of the metronome, I can hear you—a soft, happy murmur from the corner. You're two, propped on a mountain of discarded amp covers, drowning in a tiny Misfits shirt, your chubby fingers wrapped tight around a crayon as you attack a piece of paper. Your hair is a beautiful catastrophe, shooting out in all directions like you've been charged with lightning. I see you through the booth glass, my guitar hanging slack, headphone…