Wrapped in the rags of a pathetic lie sits what once could’ve been the truth,
But time over time has ended the chance for whatever once was the truth is now more of a lie than the lie that coveted it,
Sickness from a disease that never existed,
A plague that had no know beginning,
Cleansing of the trash,
Rise of the rich,
The guilty prosper while the innocent lose hope,
Failure,
Foreboding tales of dread masked in the light of a truth,
Simpleton,
You gave the wisdom of life away and accepted the infinite possibilities of what could be as your grounding,
How sadness becomes,
Let the light shine over you and retell your life through the eyes of what is,
And not what you think is…
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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.
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