Parlour tricks don’t feed my hate filled soul with the pleasure I so desire, shallow illusions deal nothing of the pain I wish to eviscerate upon your mortality, come take my hand (severed from its twisted Fran) and dance this with my demented caricature, misery (not with the fate of company, not the love of it, but the desire, THE WANT, separate the head from the shoulders with blades as tall as the sky) separate the serpent from the arm of its master, confident saint, severed god, sinners all and more to see than misery (not with the fate of company, not with the love of it, but the desire, THE WANT, so separate the head from the shoulders with blades as tall as the sky)
~{the want}~ – 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
