Forsaken is the sun that shines on the entrails of what was,
Desire leads to an ending of hateful spite,
Lacklustre endings fueled by mechanical constructs,
We bridge a want,
We grow a need,
But in truth none of those mean a thing without perfection,
A word robbed from the book of job,
A lie,
Fiction,
Like the rest of what was written,
But for those who are damned anything is better than facing the truth that once you sin,
Whatever waits after this life,
The darkness of forever,
Will not be as empty as you would hope,
For outside the void,
In the coldness of the nothing,
It waits for you and your sin…
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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
