Dissolve the stitches of aggression as I state at my reflection with hate filled eyes, my stomach (burn the bitches) turns like a boat on a sea of tribulation, my sin sinks deeper within (forward with the saint who sits on my shoulder) blood dried over the scratches of mistaken cowardness (fool), clutch what is left of the water that spirals down the plug hole disappearing like each breath that leaves my chest, sacrifice (a burnt offering) what I can to show your words hurt less (than the back of your hand)
sticky and reused (with a side of penance) – Wrapped In Words
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
