Weeping on the Sitting Board
A Twisted Verse by Matthew Tonks
Days stolen through the darkness, my skin a sin, the devil’s harness.
Promised lies and whispered death — I ask for hope, but still regress.
Lengths I’ll go and depths I’ll fall, as sinners feast on filthy things,
I wanted to but couldn’t move, my mind a sea of broken strings.
It cracked, it split, it fell away, that fragile shield that failed that day,
I begged, I screamed for scraps of sense, as my sanity slipped away.
Saliva, salt on wounded man, rubbed raw by hands that fate commands,
pathetic I, with hollow eyes — forsaken still, and damned by thy hands.
💬 Did this one echo?
Tell me—before it forgets your name.
—
Written by Matthew Tonks
→ Read more twisted verses at mtonks.com
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