The darkness keeps invading, this room it seems so tiny, everything I thought was my life, turned out to be someone’s lies, filtering through the pages of domestic bliss, while secretly I was becoming someone else, masking my true identity, in the meat suit I once called my own, white picket fences, half full glasses, the reflection in a broken mirror, a reflection no longer me, faded fortunes lost in this sea of misery, a window once open now closed, a pittance for my sins, a memory told by those who once called me friend, faded words once so bright, my self a victim of my own lies, white picket fences, half full glasses, the reflection in a broken mirror, a reflection no longer me, white picket fences, half full glasses, a reflection no longer mine, a broken mirror have I become, a reflection of who I once could’ve been, a broken mirror is 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