My monster shows me no peace, slithering around in its meat suit I call mine, it faces my world with zero compassion, it tears holes in my life with vigorous obsession, deep inside it dwells, tightly gripping all that makes me who I am, manipulating my movements, twisted my view, showing me a vision of a world that is not true, its darkness, its hold, its story to be told, a venture, a quest, into the bowels of hell would be go, no hope, no surrender, no victory to behold, a beast that cannot die, a will that cannot be stopped, from the beginning to the end and beyond will this creature, this demon, this devil of an angel will forever be
Several Pounds Of Salt Was All That Remaind Of His Husband – 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
