Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

woven in the skin beneath my flesh,

is the words written for those that can see,

sewn into the underneath are rhymes destined to be,

I wrote a sonnet in summer,

I burnt it to keep warm in the cold,

it birthed itself in my nightmares,

flimsy recognitions,

windows in place of mirrors,

I kept the fire burning,

I worshipped the birds and bees,

fragmented sentences,

titillation of tendencies,

we gave,

we took,

pathetic lies stolen in our sleep,

I saw the image,

I gave it a name,

that name was me,

and I was it,

we were us,

one,

and all…