I’ve been writing songs for a decade. The best in the business, they call me. But I have no desire to be the one putting on the show. Happy to be behind the scenes, giving them material to thrill their crowds. I’ve got my own demons to wrestle. And that doesn’t leave time for much else.

Started writing when I was in the military. Bombs going off around me. A shaky pen in my hand. Hoping my words would live on long after I died. But I made it out alive. Sort of. PTSD has a way of grabbing you by throat and draining the life from you. That’s why I prefer to be alone. Never know when something might trigger me. But when I get stuck writing with a new artist on her debut album, my mind is tortured for a different reason.

This girl… she’s dangerous. A distraction I don’t need, making me want things I can’t have, ‘cause I’m still a broken man.