I sit here stewing in my own juices, as the sweat pours from within and runs down my face, the saltiness cascades over my tongue like treats of insanity, hallucinations trick me with their dastardly lies, my mind, my imagination, my madness humiliates my pride, my eyes fog over, my breathing slows down, my seat slowly swallows me, my imagination my bitter crown, confused, drowned, drained of all I am, then a breeze of coolness rushes over me like a wave and for a moment, a precious moment, I am free, I am me, a reprieve for my sins, then it goes as it came, and the heat picks up once again, so does the sweat, that flows down my forehead once more…
A Boxful Of Sins To Boil My Flesh From My Skin – 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
