I still taste my mothers blood on my lips, it’s warmth salty sharpness sends my glands into spasms, but truth be told it’s been many a year or more since I clawed my way from her womb like a desperate diver trying to make his way from the depths of the ocean with the only air above (THERE WAS NO DESPERATION, I TORE MY WAY OUT BECAUSE I HAD GROWN TIRED OF HER), the doctors were sickened by my entrance, my father refused my existence and thrust me away from his grace (THE PATHETIC INSECT FELT MY TOUCH SOON AFTER), but the world came to feel me, the word felt every breath I took, every heartfelt moment I gave, every life I sucked into my web of suffering, I see it now, the realisation in your eyes, the paleness of your skin, you know who I am now, you know my name and you know my face, because it stares back at you every day in the mirror, it reflects of every puddle of redness that you stand over in finality, I am the sickness, I am the disease, I am you, and you, are me!
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