A weaving of sickness, wickedness is webbed, frustration silently silenced inside my head, a mirror, a mirage, radiating from within, forgiveness not asked for, a hole in my head, bastard sons, guilty pleasures not noticed, fornicate my pendulum of oppression in forked tongues, gentle is the kisses, without, within, see through the darkness, see me hiding inside this skin…
Webbed Lies Across Your Eyes – Unhinged Poem
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Twisted Roads - Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks 
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