Self styled impurities signifying ones own self-worth, used dramatically by others as a service for ridicule by those who cast themselves as the judgment makers, pathetic whelps who congregate with others of like stature to incoherently worship ones selflessness while at the same time stripping the people they pose to protect of everything that is theirs, signatures on worthless documents mean nothing if those upholding the supposed laws live outside them, invent a new machine, then break it again, because humanity feeds off its own pathetic self, slavery sanctified, pittance personified, a regimented silence forced without retribution or discussion, suffocating sickness beneath the oncoming darkness of a tomorrow written in the ashes of an already broken today…
I Saw A Memory Lost Within A Litter Of Stolen Lies – Wrapped In Words
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
