Can’t you see how numb I’ve become,
I can’t feel the knife you left there anymore,
But I still remember the words,
I still remember your face on that day,
But now I just don’t care,
For there is nothing left of me inside here,
I just exist to fill space,
A zombie,
A ghost,
Not even a shell of who I was,
Not broken,
Not bitter,
Not jealous,
but empty,
Witness my vessels becoming,
See what you never could see,
See the me you’ve made me be,
See through me,
See past the lie I make myself out to be,
See through my eyes,
See out through the mask I wear,
See inside my and know what beats beneath the flesh,
See all of me and cast aside your judgment,
See beyond the doors of what was and see what is,
See down into the whirlwind that is my soul,
See the judgment you stole,
See it,
See my disease,
See me!
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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
