My Current Obsession

I've recently become addicted to the worst fandom ever! Anyone who is on Tumblr understands. I'm a Sherlockian. I can't even hear the word fall without breaking down. It's an amazing show with amazing actors, and the worst writer ever. Moffat. His name should be added to the dictionary as a way of saying destroyer of dreams. Someone seriously needs to watch it and talk with me. I will even give you my Netflix crap if you will watch it. I needs to talk with someone about it. Any takers?

I've written several poems for it and  I've posted them on tumblr. I have the most supportive followers ever, and I love their comments. I think I honestly enjoy it more than Blogger. It's easier to post on, and less crashy. I think that this may be my last post on here. I've actually been getting responses from my viewers and it's refreshing. But I won't delete this blog just yet. I have also taken down all my Fanfic stories. I was fed up with some of them never getting worked on in favor of other stories.

And now I will post my poems.

Bitter

Angry

But at what

Many ask

But none know

His life

A maelstrom of 

Hatred and depression

So few understand

He plays 

Not because 

He is bored

But because

He craves attention

His theatrics

Only designed

To retrieve the

Attention of the one

He craves

The one who

Could understand

Him like no other

A intense emotion

Hope is

Not something

For the faint of heart

It nearly stuns him

The way it sweeps in waves

Over him

Like waves in the most 

Turbulent of oceans

Pulsating and yet

Fulfilling

And then...

Soul crushing disappointment

Anger

For the one

Who above all

Should know you

Are not the villain

But the victim

Of a most heinous crime

And yet

You feel anger

For those who

Convinced him

You were the enemy

The expendable

army doctor

The reformed druggie

DI

One who he should pity

The abused in childhood

The forensic investigator

Yet he still doesn't get it

You left him breadcrumbs

Ye they were as plastic

As the "Good" doctor's

emotions for him

But left him suffer

 when he comes crawling back

to the hate filled "best friend"

You'll be waiting

In the wings

To catch him when he falls

Deliverance

Sitting silently

Alone at a crowded bar

The blonde haired man

His shoulders slumped

His face wizened 

Knowledge no man should possess

His blue eyes clouded 

Unshed tears

Brush his thick eyelashes

Trembling hands grasp

Empty air

Thick voice

Calls gruffly

To unseen men

Desperation evident

Sudden jerking

And hunched body

Hit stone floor

Tremors rock

Through him

As burly men

Surround and support

Drag him to a bench 

And spread him prone

911 dialed

But suddenly

Elegant and tall

Long face 

Surrounded by

Thick ebony curls

And cutting cheekbones 

Icy blue-green eyes

Rough callused hands

Drag prone body 

To a waiting cab

Drag him to the body's house

Yank him up the stairs

And wait.

Wait for the moment 

Of reawakening

Of the beginning

Of deliverance

A Glimpse

John sits immobile

Barely able to speak

Sherlock wanders aimlessly

Through the crowded streets

Molly sits in solitude

Her part in this unclear

Lestrade lives on his sofa

His life consumed by beer

Donovan regrets her part

Her hastiness to judge

Anderson while outward cheered

Inside a part of him can't help but grieve

Mycroft gives no outward hints

He helps his brother 

But damages others

Ms. Hudson grieves the loss

Her son dead and gone

Their lives forever impacted

By a man's delusional mind.