MATTHEW TONKS Australian Horror Author

pistol whipped,

fancy big free,

a culmination of exaggerations,

simplicity in me,

I cried a weathered mirror,

dark skies around,

westward destinies float high,

I saw a reflection,

it was not mine,

sea winds blow,

a separation,

their sin,

we,

then,

a want,

a thing,

my sickness within..

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A car approaches along a wet forest road at night

The Road Doesn’t End Here.

There is always another story waiting beyond the fog.

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