Originally this was with Dave Mustaine, but as a South African, writing stuff about zionists disgusts me to the core, so I totally scrapped him out of the story.
I actually have no idea who to replace him with, my first choice is Tom Morello, because dayum is he fine asf, but if you wanna read juicy stuff about someone else lemme knowww.
Savannah's POV
What people fail to tell you, is that love kills. It builds up your hope and takes you to the top, only to wring out the passion from your soul like a rope around your neck. Squeezing. Suffocating. Strangling you until your eyes are nothing more than just dull, empty orbs.
How am I supposed to tell a story when the words I muster bring nothing more but tears? How am I supposed to live my life when I find my heart stung into the coffin I lie in? How do I go about my day when the will to live has dissolved into a puddle at my feet?
But what I hate the most is my foolishness. How did I let my guard down? How did I delude myself into thinking the rain would stop falling and the sun would bring hope into my life.
Now all I'm left with is the sun peeking out through the glass window, heaving me out of the throes of misery I have sought comfort in.
Why did I ever think my life was for the better? How could I let myself get attached to the hope of digging myself out of the hole I had dug.
Why, oh why, oh why?
Why won't it just end? Why do I keep insisting that it would change, that I would be free. Why do I still twist the truth into lies, and try to view life as warm and nurturing, when all it's done is give me a klap across the face, and a fresh wave of bitterness at the back of my throat.
Why do I still seek the warmth of love when everything in my life tells me that I'm destined to walk this path alone. Why do I still have hope in my heart, telling me I'm destined for something greater. Why do I delude myself with the idea that people that suffer from young are destined for something greater?
The music in my head serenades me, and the hollow pit in my chest fills up with the tears I blink back.
Did I do something to deserve this? In a past life or wronged someone unbeknownst to me?
Did I stab a friend in the back, or abuse my child to the point of despair?
Have I been so evil and vile that I find the knives I threw stabbing myself until I see my passion bleed out from underneath me?
Why?
Just why?
My sweet Lord, why?
"Savannah?" Someone pounded on the door.
I quickly wiped the stray tears from my face, and fashioned my voice into something more sweet and upbeat, "Come in!"
Tommy burst through the door with bottles of jack in his hand, "Nikki said I'd find you here."
"What's up T?" I patted the empty space next to me in which he gladly sat down.
"You looked a little sad when you left, so I thought I'd cheer you up." He smiled sweetly.
Trevor insisted we invited everybody, from a random chick on the street to Motley Crue and Ratt. And with nearly 100 guests pouring in, he still deemed it small for a housewarming party.
We had all poured our cash in, and bought a rather lovely house on the hills, that was a much better upgrade from Kirk's cramped up apartment.
And now the four of us could live in chaos together.
YOU ARE READING
Hold On To Love || Kirk Hammett
Fiksi PenggemarWith the face of an angel, dimples that would make any girl melt, and the ability to silence any guitar player with a single solo- Kirk Hammett was becoming the talk of the town- and with Metallica taking America by storm, nothing could bring him do...
