Forked tongues tell wicked lies on a bed of silhouettes drawn on the back of your eyes,
Majestic illuminations flash across the sky hidden within the stories whispered in the dark,
Designate your flavour of life as the wind is sucked from your sail and blown into another’s,
Misery created to tear the life from the limbs that once housed strengthens unknowingly endless,
Pride dictates a suffering bound in the shape of whatever its victims needs to see,
Congratulations child of meat for your moment to shine has come,
So don’t look away or ignore the fact that this is happening and that you are nothing more and nothing less,
For you,
Are nothing…
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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
