You give a moment of anxiety more guidance and pompous overture than you do to life as it passes you by at a rate you never realise until it’s too late, sacrificing everything for the demons that exist on the inside of your skull but have no real sharpe or consistency in the world that revolves like s bottle top in its death throes, wake up and see what you have missed out on while you were in your self imposed tomb or continue to suffocate until all is no more, until you are just someone else’s demon without essence…
Absent From What Made Sense Was The First Mistake
Posted by Matthew Tonks on
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
