With a hand on the heart as it beats it last I rescinded my words through the movements I have made in life,
Taking back that what I had given and opened my eyes anew to the world before me,
It may have been a wicked temptress that drove me to this place,
But it was not the owner of my sins created with the hands that spread themselves in front of me,
For they were mine and mine alone,
But the time it took for me to see thy fact,
Bore madness with it,
I succumbed to a fools lie which was my own somehow,
Twisted into an image that I did not recognise,
A shadow of another time,
Of another me,
Of the beast that hides beneath my flesh with its wickedly toothy smile…
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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
