daftwithoneshoe:

The good people of Baker Street liked Christmas a lot,
But Sherlock, who lived in 221B, did NOT!
Sherlock hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his head wasn’t screwed on just right.
It could be, perhaps, that his scarf was too tight.
But I think the most likely reason of all,
May have been that his caseload was two sizes too small.
Whenever the season arrived, without fail,
Sherlock would look at his empty inbox and let out a wail.
It seemed that the joy and goodwill that came with Christmas time,
Led people to cease to commit any manner of interesting crime.
He’d lay on his couch, he’d whine and he’d moan,
And wish with all his heart that Lestrade may decide to phone
And ask for his help with a case so puzzling
That normal people (idiots) would be left stuck and confuzzling.
He needed a case. Heck! Any would do!
He’d do anything for one, or even better, two!
“Christmas is coming,” he snarled with a sneer,
“This whole world has been struck with holiday cheer!
It’s disgusting! It’s rotten! It’s wretched! Repulsive!
What a terrible time to be a consulting detective!”
He grabbed John’s gun from it’s place in John’s drawer,
Shot at the wall and shouted “BORED! BORED! BORED! BORED!”

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False words are leaking out of me

until the day is done

Overflowing maniac declarations

of nothingness

drowning me, coughing me, gasping through

A parted sun

Still burnt by the chaste memories

of what is now gone

But…

When the day is over

When the world stand at its still

When you lay at night

Counting to and fro

back and fourth

once again, still

Changes have crashed

tidal wave approved

beyond the sinking

still without rest

convoluted and unmoved

when the prickly smiled mirrors

no longer laugh at you

what is a soul to do?

they march and sing out

“Imperfections build character.”

Further stretched past a golden acre.

“Flaws mold the being as much as the surrounding”

With choral metal backings

its different now.

i’ve noticed how

i’m in a better place

and i will never choose to sink again

because i’ve learned how to swim

to stay afloat

till the day is done…

till the day is done…

-Tally, The Spice

Pop.

Ican’tbringmyselftostringtogether

Sentences

Tostringtogether

Metaphors

TopretendthatIamworththewords

I speak

Icannotcry

Over something

thatdidnothappen

to me

Icanonlylook

on with fear

icanonlytaste

nectur sunken

fromadeadwillowtree

Candid and cute

simplystolensacrifices 

Myworldisjusta 

Bubble

Waitingtobebursted

Pop.

-The Spice