Watch the waves wash away the twinkle in my eyes, a sadness malformed within the complexities of an imaginary insanity lost beneath the madness of forthright convictions, salivate the sadness of tomorrow, signify what mistakes will be when they are yet to be that, break the mood that would be filled with a sack full of bastard children, obliterating truths with lies dipped in the shadows of a goodness that once called itself hope, forget what you came here for and turn back the hands of what can be for time, is nothing other than a trail from what was, to what is.
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