Simple words said without thought,
words without feeling said so effortlessly,
practiced and complete,
you didn’t even try to soften the blow,
you didn’t even fake the pain,
you just tossed me aside,
forgotten in an instant,
made obsolete,
in your mind it was over,
when the blade dug in deep,
but you never killed me,
you just left me to rot,
to die like an animal,
in my own piss and shit,
but hate can do wonders,
for a broken soul,
so I crawled on my belly,
through the mud and my own shit,
with one simple thought,
that’ll cave in your skull.
—
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Published by Matthew Tonks
People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time, who dreams of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.”
So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.
View all posts by Matthew Tonks
