Sounding boards around my eyes, blinkers flashing before my ears, down is around, up is beneath the ground, we are breaking, fires burn underwater, stigmata on my hand, crosses on my lawn, we are impostors, we are all pretend, stay, slip away, there is nothing new, there is nothing old, there is only the decay of what is, what was, whatever may, my simplistic murder, my rusty cage….
Whatever May – Unhinged Poem
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Twisted Roads - Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks 
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