Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

A deviation of my state, armageddon might be late, signals mixed up, confused, my body broken and abused. I cry a river of my own, damnation met, not mine alone. Mirror cracking, images stacking, my bitter pill I’m swallowing, in the bile I lay, wallowing. It dries up, empties my cup, tears like willows, sorrow swallows. Cup her chin, breathe it in, swallow me and my sin, within… Cup her chin, breathe it in, swallow me and my sin, within…